Broken Bow
by SongOfStars
Summary: Despite his graveside plea, Sherlock Holmes never returned from the dead. Despite the fact he was there watching his own burial, John Watson didn't know he was still alive. S/J
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimers: **I don't own anything … yet "grinch evil grin" All rights to BBC & its writers as well as Benedict, Martin, everyone else involved with it.

(If any British end up reading this & see a word you people don't use & know what the word should be, let me know. I'm Canadian but I want authenticity as much as possible & would be happy to change it. Thanks.)

**AN: **Based off a dream I had the night I finished the 7 shows of Sherlock BBC, (Unaired Pilot on Youtube) this was originally a simple one-shot. Now look at it! Sheesh. Anyway, this will be slightly an A.U., just saying. (No that actually does NOT refer to the S/J stuff either.)

If the theory I use for his jump-surviving is wrong I can just edit in the correct one later.

(By the way, **Broken Bow **as in 'Oh' for violin bow, not 'now' like a ship section.)

Mind the rating. There is some violence here as well as the usual (not-so) random love scene. This is a Sherlock/John after all.

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><p><strong>Summary: <strong>Despite his graveside plea, Sherlock Holmes never returned from the dead. Despite the fact he was there watching his own burial, John Watson didn't know he was still alive. S/J

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><p><strong>Broken Bow<strong>

**(1) Moving Forward  
><strong>

"**Sherlock, for me, don't be … dead. Would you do that just for me? Just stop it. Stop this …"**

John Watson woke up with a start. He always jerked out of sleep when having that dream. Sherlock Holmes & James Moriarty were both gone. Sherlock dead. James? Who knew? Who cared? John knew that if he ever saw that despicable creature again, he would destroy him.

John rolled out of bed & glanced around. He was in a hotel room in a corner of London far away from 221B. It had been a week since that visit to the grave. It was the first visit since Sherlock was driven to his jump, right before his eyes. That jump was almost four months ago. John knew that sooner or later he'd have to take care of certain finalities at the flat he once shared with Sherlock. Mrs. Hudson had said she would wait for him. He decided that today would be the day he'd get it over with.

Within twenty minutes, John found himself in a cab heading for the familiar. He didn't even bother with breakfast for once. How could he eat anything on this day? He stood on the pavement staring at the door for several minutes until it opened of its own volition.

"John dear," Mrs. Hudson began, rushing down the few steps to him & pulling him into a motherly hug. "I've been trying to reach you for a while."

"Sorry," John muttered. "I didn't really want to talk."

"Oh, I understand that," Mrs. Hudson went on. "But you must see this now. Come in." She half-pulled him inside to her own flat & shoved him into the nearest chair. "Look at this." She passed him a large yellow envelope. "I found that the day he ...when it happened. It was under my pillow."

"What is it?" John let the papers slide out onto the table top. It was a letter & a smaller long white envelope. The letter, if it could be called that, reasoned out a rent payment for the next five years, including rent increases with in certain amounts of time. The white envelope held checks written out for those five years.

All were signed by Sherlock.

"He paid ahead. For you."

"What?"

"You know how rich that Holmes family is," Mrs. Hudson. "He's perfectly capable of paying ahead for the next ten years if he wished." After a short moment she added, "Look at the dates."

John took a minute to look through several of them. "He did this the day he died."

"Yes."

John leaned back in his chair until it came off its front legs. "That confirms it. Somehow. I don't know how."

"Sorry … confirms what?"

"I've always had this stupid idea that he faked it," John sat forward again. "That somehow he'd come through that door & glare at us saying, 'How can you think I was dead? It's obvious, isn't it?' But this ..." John shoved the papers & checks away. "If he was coming back, why pay ahead to ensure the place stays available for me?"

"Oh, John," Mrs. Hudson murmured, sitting down in the chair opposite him. "I'd keep you here anyway. I wouldn't have it any other way. I can't have anyone else in that flat right now. Can't see anyone else but you & Sherlock. When I think I'll never hear that violin again …" She teared up, got up & went to fuss over tea.

"Well, it's up there," John started. "Do you want me to try?"

"Good heavens no!" Mrs. Hudson shrieked in alarm before both burst out laughing. "You can't even sing to save your life. Don't touch that violin!"

John glared. "How do you know I can sing or not?"

"Oh please!" Mrs. Hudson scoffed. "How many showers have you had here? Even Sherlock tried but failed miserably at drowning you out with his violin. Nothing worked against you." John crossed his arms, still glaring. "How's Mycroft holding up?" She quickly changed the subject.

"Not good, not good at all," John said. "He blames himself & I agree with him."

"Oh that poor man."

"I don't know what I feel about him," John half-retorted. He stood up. "Well I better get up there & well, you know."

"Will you stay? Keep the flat I mean?"

"Maybe, we'll see," John answered. "I'll see what it looks like once I've packed up Sherlock's stuff. You want the violin?"

"I should learn to play," Mrs. Hudson mused.

"If I do stay, you can drown my showers out with it." John grumbled.

Mrs. Hudson laughed & sobbed at the same time. "You're horrible!"

"Since you don't know how to play violin yet, you would be to."

"Oh hush up you."

John spent nearly an hour simply sitting alone in that flat before he even started. But then, once started, he went into auto-pilot & had packed nearly everything by late in the night. He finally closed the door to Sherlock's bedroom one last time, intending to keep it closed, then headed down stairs & left the violin with Mrs. Hudson. John then entered the little café below & sat down in a corner table.

After about fifteen minutes, Mycroft joined him. "Why didn't you call me earlier?"

"I don't know," John shrugged. "It's all packed except one thing. I left the violin with Mrs. Hudson."

After a moment's thought Mycroft said, "That's fine by me. Sherlock only ever used it to torture me anyway." They both had a short laugh before Mycroft went on. "Did you find his riding crop?"

"Riding crop? No, I didn't see it," said John. "Didn't even think of it."

"Ah well, he probably left it somewhere."

"In the mortuary."

"Sorry?"

"Oh, nothing. First day we met, Sherlock said he left it there."

"I really don't want to know why," Mycroft said with a slight wince. "It's strange though."

"How so?"

"Can't find his crop. Can't find his horse."

"Oh, yeah." A short silence like a rest beat in music passed. "Hang on, he had a horse?"

"Of course, obviously," Mycroft said before he could think. "Why else a riding crop?"

"I don't know, whip dead bodies with?" John scoffed. "I've been his friend for around two years. I never knew he had a horse. How could I not know?"

Mycroft pulled out his wallet & fished around. "It's a, well it isn't white & it isn't grey. Silver. A silver stallion. There he is, riding it." Mycroft handed over a picture.

John instinctively sat back in fright. "I I I uh I hate horses. Oh ok. Nice. Um, nice." He gingerly handed it back. Sherlock was perched in the saddle of a huge terrifying monster that looked about ready to jump into action.

"Really? I have three of them myself. Delightful creatures."

"Dreadful animals," John muttered. "What do you mean, you can't find Sherlock's?"

Mycroft was in the process of tucking the picture away. He looked up for a pause. "Oh Bach is gone. That night, after Sherlock, well afterward, I went for a ride. It's how I clear my mind. The stall for Bach was broken open & that stallion was no where in sight."

"The stall was broken? Did someone steal him perhaps?"

"That would be impossible. Bach let only Sherlock touch him," Mycroft explained. "Besides, the door was smashed from the inside out. No, I think it's more like that special sense animals have. As if Bach somehow knew Sherlock wasn't coming back for him. "

"Hmm yes, it's amazing what animals can do," said John, clearly not impressed at all.

"I still can't find him today. I guess it's a good thing though. I mean, no one but Sherlock could control the bloody beast. He trained him in his own way. I have no idea what to do with that animal if it ever comes back. There now. If you wish to hate a horse, hate Bach. It's the only horse I'll never understand."

"I hope someone found it," John was looking about as ill as he suddenly felt. "A loose uncontrollable stallion. London's streets won't be safe."

"Problem?"

"I've never liked horses & I never will."

"Well, they're not for everybody I guess," Mycroft sighed as he stood up. "My staff should have collected everything by now. Keep in touch, John."

John stood up as well. "Take care." He watched as Mycroft's limo pulled out into the street. Pulling himself out of his trance, John glanced at the clock on the wall. It was nearly 2:30 AM. He sighed tiredly & headed towards the old flat. He hadn't planned on staying here quite just yet but considering how late it was, John succumbed & entered his old bedroom.


	2. Chapter 2

**(2) A Mistake**

_**Three years later**_

"Why are you here, John?"

Silence was the answer. The late afternoon sun cast rays of light through the large bay window. Ella sat in a straight wooden chair, one leg crossed over. Her long black skirt hung low to the floor.

"John? You haven't been here in three years," Ella pressed "You tried three times after this incident with your friend." More silence. She sighed. "John, you called me & said you made a mistake. What did that mean?"

John finally made it known to the world of the living that he was, in fact, among them. "I did."

"What was it?"

John took so long to answer that Ella nearly repeated the question. "I thought I was fine. After Sher ...after, I came here a few times but it didn't work so I tried it my way. I thought if I would avoid certain things, areas, it would help. It did. But I got lost yesterday."

"How?"

"That's what I'd like to know," John suddenly snapped, not to her but to himself. "How could I be so stupid? I know London like the back of my hand. Especially, that ...that," he sighed heavily. " …place."

_**Yesterday**_

John Watson got out of the cab into glaring sun. He squinted his eyes against the brightness & located his usual favourite café he had gone to for lunch every day. He would often stay for an hour but this time, John hurried through his meal within thirty minutes. He planned to do a little shopping before heading back home & quickly left to walk down the street & around the corner. He then cut across two more streets, using a short cut that no cab could ever take.

John took his time. It was a good day for a walk & his limp wasn't acting up to badly for once, probably due to the sun. John let his mind wander in the heat of the day. Nearly half an hour later, he had gone through a park before he remembered what he was supposed to be doing.

A quick look around made him realise that he was no where near his original destination & John was annoyed with himself for going way too far. Now he certainly would have to take a cab, back to he store & then home.

John moved down the lane & crossed a large parking lot. He hurried down the side of the building & crossed the street between that & another, taller, building. He then headed down that street towards the main road for a cab.

The little street was mostly deserted save for one or two cars. John stopped & glanced around, suddenly feeling uneasy. Brushing it off as nothing, he continued on his way. The hairs on the back of his neck suddenly stood up & John stopped again, checking across the street & then looking up at the building he was passing under. There was something eerily familiar about this place. He took three more steps forward & then frozen, every part of him seized up in shock, his foot paused in mid-step with barely the toe of his shoe touching down, his weight supported more by his other leg & the cane. Only John's eyes moved, first looking upward & then down to the very spot he was standing on.

This was wrong. Very wrong! How the hell did he end up here? John suddenly realised with cold horror where he stood right here. Right now.

The exact spot of ground where Sherlock landed from his jump off the roof.

John couldn't move. He had to. Lord help him, he had to move away from this spot—OFF this spot. Not here, please? He had never come back to this godforsaken place. Why now? A worse horror suddenly gripped his spine as he realised it was to the day when it happened. It was exactly three years ago.

By now, John wondered if he could ever move. He closed his eyes & tried to mute out the sound of the street. He had to get to the main road now. Why did he ever come here again?

"Not here," John whispered to himself. "Please not here. Just let me move. Please let me move. God, why am I here? Let me move." He continued his whispering to himself. Slowly, he could feel some control return to him. John weakly stumbled off that place of death & hurried forward, leaning more heavily on his cane than he ever did in his life before. He finally nearly fell over into a bench by the wall. John put his head between his knees for a moment. "Oh God why here?" He breathed in deep & slow for several moments before sitting back with his eyes closed.

John listened to the sound around him. He could hear the bustle of the main road he had been trying to reach not far from his right. He stood up & turned to face that direction. Only then did he open his eyes & he willed himself forward, not wanting to look back, sideways in either direction & most certainly not up. John somehow made it off that street & got into the first cab. He went straight home.

_**Present day/Ella's office**_

"Why the hell did I go there?" John asked Ella. "I promised myself I would never go back to that spot. Why now? Three years later to the day, I end up standing on that very place he landed? His place."

"You did this automatically."

"Seems like it."

"It is most likely a subconscious response," Ella said. "To say goodbye properly."

"I've said my goodbyes."

"Have you?" Ella asked. "You tell me you never went back to his place of death yet you not only ended up there on the exact date three years later, you stood on his exact landing zone. Your visits to the grave are extremely random & the times you do go, you're there all day. You've told me this in earlier sessions we've had, three years ago. Oh yes, I remember."

John smiled for a moment, a little, faintly even. She remembered him after all this time. "What do I do now?"

"Let him go," Ella said softly.

"I have," John said. After a moment he added, "Haven't I?"

"You end up at his place of death without realising it, on the same date again without realising it right away," Ella began. "You just called the exact spot he fell to 'His place.' You tell me?"

John stared at the floor once more in silence.

"John, you're a soldier," Ella said. "You're used to killing. See people die by another's hands. When Sherlock jumped—" She paused as John moaned softly. "When he jumped, you watched a very different kind of death; one with no reason, one that was done their own self. It is a kind of death that makes no sense to you. No reason."

"War is senseless with no reason."

"Wars are fought for many reasons. When you see the killing, you know it's through warfare. Enemies falling in front of you. In its own terrible way, it still had a sense, something you can reason with. You understood war. A suicide is very different. Something different for you to face."

They both sat in silence for a few minutes.

"I will never understand ... Sherlock," John finally admitted.

John ended up visiting the therapist once a week for a full two months. At least going to Ella would hopefully stop him from ending up back there. John was sure to never make that mistake ever again.


	3. Chapter 3

**(3) Return From The Grave**

"We've got to get there now or else we'll lose the trail," Greg Lestrade was saying as he shoved open the door to the police station & stepped inside. "Lillian, call Anderson. Get him up there. We'll need back up & could you please turn on the ligh—oof!" Greg went down fast & hard, floundering in the air as ungraceful as an eel out of water during his descent. Lillian heard a yelp & a soft moan, the latter of which didn't sound like Lestrade at all.

"Greg, you ok?" Lillian called. "Greg?" The lights suddenly blared into her eyes as she flicked the switch "AH! Greg!"

"Call John Watson," came a very weak reply. Greg sounded like he was about to pass out. "Get him down here on the double. Now!" His mobile suddenly skittered across the floor & stopped at Lillian's feet. He started talking again, but to someone else. "My God, how is this possible? What happened to you? You're supposed to be dead!"

Lillian walked around the desk, closing the mobile after finishing her call. "Greg?" She asked softly, wondering why she thought she heard crying. In an instant, she had her answer. Greg Lestrade was kneeling down next to a man lying on his side on the floor, his vest & shirt ripped nearly right off & was half-passed out. The wounds running along the man's chest & strangely high-angled cheekbone were deep & there were bruises so bad that it was nigh to impossible to tell where one ended or started. Greg held the man's face between his hands & moaned softly, "Oh John. Please hurry."

"You know who that is?"

Greg looked up in surprise as if he had forgotten that there was someone else in the room. "Yes, but … but this isn't poss—did you get John Watson yet?"

"Yes, he's coming," Lillian nodded. "Greg are you alright?"

"Mmm, mhm."

"Well whoever he is, that man does need an ambulance & fast or else, he'll simply need a hearse." Lillian started making another call.

Greg merely nodded a mute reply. After several moments of silence, he said in a shuddering breath, "This is not possible. He fell from the roof."

"What do you mean?" Lillian crouched beside Greg.

"He fell from a rooftop. It killed him. At least I thought he died."

"... She …" The man lying on the floor suddenly murmured. "She..."

"What? What is it?" Greg leaned forward to listen. "She...you mean She...rlock? Yes I know. John's coming."

"John?"

"Yes. Hang on. No don't move." Greg tried to hold the man still but the man rolled onto his back. "Stop moving. What happened?"

The man finally opened his eyes enough to look at him & Greg could see the unmistakable color of ice blue-white of Sherlock Holmes. "John's here?"

"He will be in a few minutes," said Greg. "But how are you here?"

Sherlock sighed heavily, pushing himself into a sitting position. Within a nanosecond, Greg was kneeling behind him so he could lie back a bit. "You're dead, Sherlock. How are you here?"

"Obvious, isn't it?"

"Don't do that. Don't you dare do that!"

"Oh where's John?" Sherlock asked as if he was complaining. He tried to push Greg away but the officer stayed put. He put one hand to his face, gingerly feeling over the cut on his right brow & running down past the eye.

"Here," Greg ripped a piece of material from his own jacket & handed it over. "Hold it close to stop the bleeding.

"The ambulance is here," Lillian put it.

"Don't need …" Sherlock's voice failed him as he rubbed a bruise on his throat.

"You really are an idiot if you think you don't need an ambulance," Greg retorted. "You're going in it even if I have to drag you feet first."

"I need John."

"You'll get him," said Greg. "Sherlock, what happened to you?"

"It's nothing. I'll be fine in a moment."

"If this is one of your damned experiments, Sherlock Holmes," Greg threatened. "I'll put you in the test tube myself. See how you like it."

"I'd like to see you try!" Sherlock snapped, roughly shaking off Greg's hand on his arm. He muttered nearly under breath. "It isn't."

"Oh you're Sherlock bloody Holmes alright," Greg scoffed.

"Sherlock Holmes?" Lillian said to herself. In a louder voice, she went on. "I read about that. Wasn't that all fake?"

"Right now, I don't care about that," Greg said in a dangerously low voice. "Besides, we don't know for sure."

"He made it all up. The work. Moriarty. Right?"

"Those cases would have happened with or without him & Mycroft knows Moriarty," Greg snarled. "He admitted it to me a long time ago." He stood up as paramedics wheeled in a gurney. "Look Lillian. Please don't mention this to anyone yet. I need to talk with John & Sherlock first. Find out what's going on. Understand?"

"Yes sir."

"Greg? Greg!" John called, jogging in. "What's goi—go—goi—who is … who?" He suddenly found himself locked in eye contact with very familiar looking eyes. "Who?" he wheezed out, falling to his knees. "Greg?"

"Don't ask me to explain this."

"John, come with me." John glanced around. "Well come on!" Sherlock was getting frustrated. John looked back & forth between Sherlock & Greg, suddenly threw his hands in the air & marched after Sherlock.

The first half of that ride was spent staring at him. The second half was spent trying to get him to talk in a whispered conversation. "Well?" John finally ventured a question.

"Well what?"

"You're … alive."

"Obvious as ever. So? Next question & add some imagination to it this time."

"I'm sorry. So? So! How? That's all you're getting out of me. How?"

"Not in public. That's all you're getting out of me."

"For God's sake, Sherlock! Don't make me ensure you actually go into that grave this time."

"Not here!" Sherlock snapped.

"Fine," John returned the attitude. "You inconsiderate jerk."

"I thought you'd be happy I'm alive?"

"I AM!" John screamed, earning glares from the nurses. He moved closer to Sherlock & lowered his voice even more than before. "I am. But how? No. Why? What happened to you?"

"I was beaten up, obviously."

"No don't—" John whimpered. He took a breath, trying to steady his voice. "Don't do that to me please? It's three in the morning. It's too early for this."

"I'll be fine," Sherlock muttered.

John got out as soon as the ambulance parked & stood aside as Sherlock rolled passed him. He signed Sherlock in himself …as John Watson. Then, he followed as far as possible & sat on a chair near the door. He made himself as comfortable as possible, expecting to wait for a few hours. Barely twenty minutes later, however; yelps from the nurses roused him.

"No sir! SIR! MISTER WATSON! COME BACK HERE!"

John looked up for a second at his own name before remembering he was trying to cover for Sherlock. Meanwhile the familiar baritone voice sounded forth.

"POKING & PRODDING! I DON'T HAVE TIME FOR THIS!"

Something clattered to the floor. A chair on wheels slammed through the door & crashed into the wall, right next to John. The door barely had time to close before it burst open once more & Sherlock stumbled out with several bandages on his face, arms & chest. He glared around until his eyes targeted John. At least John felt targeted. He also glanced around but even if he did find a place to hide it was far too late. Sherlock stumbled forward until John was able to catch him.

"What're you doing?" John demanded.

"I'm done here."

"No." John pushed back. "You're!" He dug his heels in to push better, making him strain. "Not!"

"Sir, come back in here."

"Go with them Sh—John."

"No no no, they took care of the worst," Sherlock waved them away. "I don't need any more help."

"Sherlock," John continued to push back, giving up on trying to change the name.

"Sir if you just come back with me," the nurse tried again.

"Ah I hate doctors!" Sherlock finally lost it, pushing John sideways before throwing his hands in the air & doubling over in his usual snarl. The poor nurse jumped in fright. "I don't have time for this. John? Tell her I'm fine."

John was tiredly rubbing his brow. "I'm uh, I'm not really a part of this conversation."

"John." Sherlock waited before John finally looked at him. "I have to go home. Take me home now."

"I thought you were John?" The nurse asked Sherlock softly but was ignored.

"Where would that be?" John asked Sherlock. "I haven't seen or heard from you in three years. I don't know what you're up to these days."

"Did my checks for the rent not go through?" Sherlock asked. "I left them all to cover for five years at 221B Baker Street. I wasn't planning on coming home this early but circumstance forced me to."

"Yes, yes I know you left money for five years rent," John muttered. "I just—wait. What? You planned to stay away for five years?"

"Is that not what I just said?" Sherlock blinked incredulously at him before repeating more forcefully. "I left checks. For five years worth."

John blinked a few times as well. "They're all in working order."

"Then let's go home." Sherlock started for the door.

"Sir we are not finished wi—" The nurse's voice died in her throat as Sherlock turned his bleakest gaze on her. Even John took a step back. He had seen that glare only a spare few times before. It was reserved for James Moriarty. It was then that John realised Sherlock seemed almost desperate for something but what that was he could not know.

"Was there something else?" Sherlock hissed. "Nurse?" He ground out the word. John took another step back, knowing that if Sherlock had been anyone else, 'nurse' would not have been the chosen word.

"I'm a doctor," John said. "From the war. I can handle him from here." Sherlock looked at him, flashing him his creepiest smile yet. "Stop that. Just because I'm your friend doesn't mean I'll be nice to you. I'll be your doctor first & foremost." Sherlock lost his smile & began to sulk. "I'm also a soldier. I WILL take care of you at gunpoint if I have to." Sherlock began to vibrate in irritation but John ignored him.

The nurse stammered a bit before giving up. "Fine. You deal with him Good bloody luck with that!"

"I thought she'd never leave me alone," Sherlock muttered before asking "Is Molly still here?"

"Yes."

"We should—OW! John!"

John had grabbed him by the earlobe & started walking. "Let's go home. You have a lot of explaining to do."

"John, this really aches."

"Good!"

Sherlock stumbled along beside John, though; whether that was due to more injuries not yet seen or John's firm painful grip was unclear. Sherlock clung to that grip with his own hand but John still didn't let go. "Call Mrs Hudson," Sherlock gave up on trying to pry John's fingernails out of his earlobe.

"Don't speak!" John ordered, flipping open his mobile. He had all but thrown Sherlock into the back of the nearest cab & sat down beside him. He had finally let go Sherlock's earlobe, letting his friend rub at the redness. Sherlock shifted so that he was sitting lop-sided on one hip. "Hello? Sorry Mrs. Hudson. Didn't mean to wake you but, are you sitting down? Lying down? Good. That's great. You ready for this? I have to tell you something impossible." Sherlock moaned disapprovingly but no one cared. "Sherlock's alive. H-H-He's sitting right there." John pointed as if that would help. Sherlock's brow twitched as he glanced down curiously at the finger.


	4. Chapter 4

**(4) Impossible Odds**

"Mrs. Huds—Mrs. Hudson. Calm down. Mrs. ..." John sighed & waited, dropping his finger from Sherlock's face. Mrs. Hudson was blubbering & babbling so much that even Sherlock heard her. "Mrs. Hudson!" John tried again. "I don't know. I'm bringing him home right now. Yes. Now. In a few minutes." John finally hung up. Sherlock was about to speak but John raised a hand for silence. "No. You lost the right to speak right now. That old woman nearly had a heart attack. Just don't speak right now." They sat in awkward silence for a few minutes before John added, "Oh for God's sake! Take this." He pulled off his jacket & threw at Sherlock who was wearing nothing but trousers, badly ripped at that. The ripped shirt & vest had been removed in the hospital room.

While Sherlock put it on, John started dialling again. Sherlock reached over & closed his hand around the phone. "Don't call him." Sherlock said.

"Sherlock, he's your brother. He needs to know."

"Watson. Do not call Mycroft."

"Sherlock!" John protested. "Are you really going to take this stupid feud of yours that far?"

"It has nothing to do with that."

"Oh doesn't it?"

"No, it doesn't," Sherlock repeated. "Don't call him. Not now. Not yet." He sat back on one hip again, rearranging John's jacket around himself. "Call Molly. Lestrade. Once we're all together, then I can explain a little. Not about Mycroft though other than he can not be part of this." Sherlock handed the phone back. John tried to take it but Sherlock still didn't let go. "Not Mycroft. Don't try to trick me either."

John nodded once & took back his phone. He contacted Greg first since he already knew & then Molly. Sherlock annoyingly watched him out of the corner of his eyes. They had reached the old flat by now & John got out first. He headed for the door to open it & turned back. Sherlock was slower. He limped towards him up the few stairs. John knew Sherlock was hiding a lot more pain than that limp & even that he tried to work around.

"What happened to you?"

"I've been through worse. I'm fine," Sherlock shrugged. "All I needed was a little morphine for the migraine."

"Migraine? Since when do you get those?"

"Very rarely & for a very specific reason," Sherlock said in a voice that meant he wouldn't offer more information on it. "It's what nearly made me pass out more than anything else." He shoved passed & inside. John again held his hands up in the air for a moment of defeat until a yelp from Mrs. Hudson sent him running inside.

"How is this possible?"

"I played dead obviously. Why is everyone so surprised by this?"

"Sherlock …"

"Sherlock!" John snarled from behind. "You fell from the top of a building!"

"Did I?" Sherlock flicked up his brow for a moment as he took his time up the stairs. "Well yes, I supposed I did. You lot coming up?"

John & Mrs Hudson exchanged several glances & stammers but neither seemed to be coherent enough for anything. They both gave up & followed Sherlock. The main door opened again & Greg, followed by Molly, entered.

"I'll put on the tea," Mrs Hudson began as they filed into the flat before softly moaning, "Oh Sherlock, darling you're hurt." Sherlock lay across one couch against the wall & let the others find seats around the room. "You're limping so badly."

Sherlock folded his hands as if in prayer, touching the tips of his fingers to his chin. He stared lazily at the ceiling while everyone settled. He finally stole a sideways gaze as he answered, "Lestrade's fault. He kicked me."

"I did not."

"Not on purpose mind you," Sherlock went on hurriedly. "You tripped right over me." He uncovered his left shin to reveal a large black welt. "Right over my legs. It'll heal." He re-covered his leg with an air of sheer boredom.

"Sherlock, you're not supposed to be here right now," Molly began, stepping up towards him & kneeling on the carpet beside his couch. She put a hand gently on his face, feeling around the gash now since sewn. "You were supposed to stay away for longer than this."

"I was forced out."

By now, the tea was ready & Mrs. Hudson was in the process of handing cups of it out. She & John stopped midway between passing cups & exchanged looks with each other & Greg. John eventually asked the question they all were thinking. "Molly, you … knew?"

Molly whimpered & stood up. Reluctantly, she turned to face them. The three of them were glaring at her like a jury handing out a death sentence to the world's most hated criminal. "I, uh, he asked me to help him escape."

"Oh my God. Okay! Alright!" Greg stood up & began pacing back & forth. "I can't…I mean…How could you not tell us?"

"I wasn't allowed."

"Lestrade really," Sherlock cut in. "I went into hiding. Anyone who would know about that had to keep silent."

"Is there anyone else who knows?" Lestrade demanded.

"Besides your female officer with you earlier?"

"I'll deal with her," Greg tried to assure. "I've already ordered her not to say anything. So far, she has yet to disobey orders. Is there anyone else?" He asked again.

"Just us here, now." Sherlock answered, before complaining. "This is not one of my China cups. There should be enough of them for all of us."

"Um, it was an accident," John mumbled, smiling sheepishly while holding one of the China cups in hand. Everyone except Sherlock & Molly had a cup of that set. "It was the only thing I kept. Your China set. Everything else went back to Mycroft. But I … stopped using these since I, well, you have that deductive power of yours. Use it."

"You broke two of my China cups?" Sherlock glared at him. "This was a gift from Mummy on my 20th birthday."

"I'm sorry."

"I will never forgive you."

"Right," John gulped. "Oh by the way, does everyone here know about Mycroft?" He went on.

"Don't change the subject!"

"Shut up, Sherlock!"

"Come over here & make me."

"Why I oughtta ..."

"We can't tell him!" called Molly above John & Sherlock's bickering. They stopped as the others clearly weren't paying either of them any attention & had gone on with the conversation.

"What?" Greg & Mrs. Hudson asked at once.

"Mycroft can't know I'm back," Sherlock said. "Not now."

"When can we tell him then, if not now?" Greg asked.

"I'll be the one to tell him," Sherlock said. "But not for a long time."

"You expect all of us to keep this from your own brother?" Greg wasn't sure he heard right.

"Yes." Was all Sherlock said.

"Fine we'll deal with him later," Greg sat down again. "How are you here? John saw you jump."

"Did he now? Hmm, how silly of me to think any of you would ever figure it out."

"Sherlock!" Everyone but Molly snarled at him.

"Start from the beginning," Greg ordered. "How did you survive the fall?"

"That isn't the beginning," John put it. "Who called me about Mrs. Hudson getting shot but when I get to her, she's fine?"

"I paid some new nurse a hundred pounds for a prank call," Molly put in. "She didn't know what she was doing other than getting an easy one hundred pounds."

"A prank c—A PRANK CALL?"

"John, I'm sorry!" Molly cut in. "Sherlock & I needed to be rid of you to finish things up. You kept hanging around so I had to send you away."

"Yes he does have that annoying habit at times," Sherlock put it.

"Shut up!" John & Greg both ordered before focusing on Molly again.

"Then what?" Greg pressed.

"While John was gone, Sherlock & I were able to work," Molly went on. "The ground Sherlock landed on wasn't pavement. It was padding made to look like pavement. Part of the block of cement in the sidewalk was removed & replaced with the padding. Sherlock fell on that. It was still hard...but not as bad."

"He died in my hands," John cut in. "I felt pavement."

"Did you reach me right away?" Sherlock asked from his position on the couch. He was lying down on one side, propping himself up on his elbow, watching John.

"Well uh no," John started.

"Alright then," Sherlock said as if that settled the matter. He took another sip of tea out of the dark blue mug he had been given.

"We also put padding under that coat of his. No one would notice since Sherlock used to always wear that coat." Here Molly stopped & looked behind her, passing the conversation to Sherlock.

"I went up to the roof top, dealt with Jim & then jumped," Sherlock stated. "That's where it got tricky but I took a risk. I won. Molly had put several morphine patches all over my body. I was becoming more & more drugged by the second. So it didn't actually hurt that much at first. I still broke half my ribs, knocked myself out & dislocated more than one bone but felt the full force only later."

"I kept him under with anaesthetics for most of the time he healed," Molly finished. "Working in the mortuary, I easily wrote up his death certificate & proclaimed him dead to the world."

"But the pavement," John stated again. "You had no pulse either." Molly & Sherlock shared a long hard look. "What?" John asked. "What did you do?"

"First John, I want MY China cup on the table in the kitchen well away from you. Give it to Mrs. Hudson for her to put there. Just do it & don't argue." Once John had begrudgingly handed the cup to Mrs. Hudson who put it on a table well away from him, Sherlock asked. "Do you remember Baskerville?"

"Yes."

"Do you remember you got knocked over by a cyclist before reaching me?"

"Yes. How would you know? You were dead. Knocked out. Whatever!"

"Because I paid him beforehand."

"To knock me over?"

"Yeeeessss," Sherlock dragged out, sending John his strangest haunting stare yet.

A long silence passed.

"You didn't!"

"I did!" Sherlock looked about amused as much as John was furious.

"SHERLOCK I WILL KILL YOU!" John launched from his position like a rocket off its pad. "AHHHHHHHHH!" Sherlock's eyes went wide but both Greg & Molly stepped in.

"LET ME GO!" John struggled. "You drugged me with H.O.U.N.D.? Sherlock! WHY?"

"It helped with the effect Molly & I were going for."

"You used H.O.U.N.D.?" Greg exclaimed.

"How could you?"

"John relax! It wasn't enough to harm you. Just like the first time."

"B-b-b-but … that isn't the point!" John finally gave up his struggling & allowed Greg to push him back into the armchair. "So, this cyclist knows you faked it?"

"No, he just thinks you're a druggie." Sherlock half-shrugged with one shoulder as he was still lying on the other. He shifted his position to gaze at the ceiling again. John's face, meanwhile, was fit to be put on Youtube as the world's darkest glare.

"Still doesn't explain the lack of a pulse!" John snapped. "H.O.U.N.D. or not, a pulse is a pulse."

"When we were looking for those kids," Sherlock began. "I showed you a picture of Rhododendron ponticum. Using the toxin of that flower in a certain way renders one dead, no pulse, for a while."

"I gave him a solution of what people call 'Mad Honey' disease," Molly added. "That eventually stopped his pulse. While you were on the ground, you know that Sherlock was surrounded by a group of people," she went on. "They covered most of the padding Sherlock was on. You didn't really get around to touching it & it was thoroughly blended into the real pavement. So that plus H.O.U.N.D. plus Mad Honey disease really helped to keep you confused."

"So this group knows Sherlock was fine?"

"Not in the same way you do. They just thought it was a circus act." Molly finished.

"Money again," Sherlock said. "Paid them all a lot to put up a circus act."

"About those kids, Sherlock," Greg raised an eyebrow.

"I still don't know & I haven't the time to look into it," Sherlock said.

"They knew your face."

"I know," Sherlock said. He suddenly added, "Moriarty did have my place bugged with a few cameras. Maybe he kept himself masked & showed them a picture of me."

"Maybe," Greg said. "But I can't go on a maybe."

"I didn't hurt the kids, Lestrade," Sherlock muttered.

"I know that," Greg said. "But without proof, no one else does."

"Oh if only I had time to look into it again," Sherlock swung his legs over the edge & sat up a bit, leaning back on one hand.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm waiting for a package," Sherlock said. "Until I get it, nothing else matters. Not even clearing my name."

"A package," Mrs. Hudson suddenly spoke up, startling everyone but Sherlock. "That reminds me. One arrived for a Mr. S. just a short while ago. I was going to bring it back to return it to sender, but it's probably for you."

"It isn't the same package I was talking about but I know what it is," Sherlock said. "It's why I needed to come home as soon as possible." John paused mid-way to grabbing his cup.

"I'll go & get it." Mrs. Hudson disappeared for a few minutes.

"So where's this other package from?" Greg asked.

"Myself," Sherlock said. "Before I was attacked, I mailed my mobile here. John, you can have your tea back." John glared as he finally retrieved it. "Don't break any more."

"Not the one I was talking about but anyway, why would you do that?" Greg asked.

"I knew I would get exposed & my mobile has everything about that other package I spoke of," Sherlock explained.

John took a sip of his tea, thinking. So that's why Sherlock didn't want to stay at the hospital. But why? "How?" he ended up asking instead.

Sherlock went on. "They're linked. I must keep that one safe at all costs."

"That's actually the one I was talking about," Greg said as Mrs. Hudson returned.

"It's a very small thing," She handed it over.

"It's just my mobile," Sherlock ripped off the package & held the phone in one hand. He checked the texting system.

PACKAGE RELOCATED TO DESIGNATED AREA

-FVL

"Good, it's been moved safely," Sherlock put the phone on the small table next to the couch. Then to the surprise of everyone, Sherlock actually collapsed onto the couch with a sigh of relief. He let his head lean back over the top & closed his eyes for a moment, hands again folded under his chin, a 'sleeping angel' pose. "It was worth it then," he whispered to himself.

"What was?" John asked.

"What happened to me," Sherlock shifted to lie down on the couch again. "tonight? It kept that package safe."

"What is it?" Greg asked again.

"I can't tell you that," Sherlock said. "Not until it's here & truly safe."

"Where is it then?" Greg tried again.

"Canada," Sherlock said. "I'm trying to get it out before it's too late."

"There's still one thing left unanswered," Mrs. Hudson said. "Why?"

"Why what?" Sherlock asked.

"Why fake death? Why jump? Why did you disappear?"

"James Moriarty," Sherlock snarled out the name. "He had you, John & Lestrade at gunpoint with snipers. If I didn't die, you three would."

"What?" The three in question gasped as Molly let out a sob.

"There there Molly, it wasn't your fault," Sherlock soothed, supposedly. "Granted I did tell you to break off with James from th—ARGH!" He rubbed his face with both hands. Molly had just smacked him. Hard! "Mind my cuts!"

Greg's eyebrows came down to a point between his eyes as he glared at Molly. "You dated this James Moriarty? Well now, I've heard everything! Any more surprises?"

"Only one but it has to do with that package from Canada," Sherlock said. "No one is to know until it is safe. Then perhaps, we can go to Mycroft."

"Ohhhh ok I get it," Greg folded his arms over his chest. "This has to do with you Holmes boys all up in the Secret Service."

"Because I can not tell you more right now," Sherlock began. "I'll let you believe that."

"Is it a threat to the nation?" Greg muttered sarcastically.

"No of course not," Sherlock assured. "I'm not James."

"What happened to him?" John asked.

"He was up on that rooftop with me to make sure I jumped," Sherlock said.

"What?" John exclaimed. "That thing! Was up there with you? What did he do?"

"Oh we shook hands," said Sherlock. "So he failed at his own game & shot himself through the head."

"Good! He's dead then," John nodded his head. "But his death didn't call off our snipers?"

"Hence why I still had to jump," Sherlock went on. "You weren't the only one watching me."

"The snipers," John realised.

"Yes," Sherlock said. "Two scenarios were planned. One with James alive & the other dead. He killed himself so I went with that."

"With my help," Molly reminded.

"Of course," Sherlock smiled softly, if only to be polite. If only.

"Oh you haven't changed a bit, have you?" Molly grumbled.

"Why should I? I'm fine the way I am." Sherlock glanced around in mild surprise at the sudden coughs & scowls from everyone in the room. He rolled his eyes & stopped caring as quickly as he had noticed them.

"So why did you stay dead?" John cut in quickly. It was that or launch for Sherlock's throat again.

"The snipers would kill you three if I was alive," Sherlock replied. "I spent the first year & a half tracking them down one by one. I couldn't come back home with them around or else they would still kill Lestrade, John & Mrs. Hudson. So I played dead until all three were brought down. The last one went to death row in America."

"But you still didn't come home. Why?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

Sherlock took a moment too long to answer. "Someone found out I'm still alive."

"Who?" asked John.

"I don't have the liberty to say yet," Sherlock said. "Please bear with me & understand that I am still trying to keep you safe."

"If someone's after you, they could use us against you," John went on. "Just like James did."

"Great! That means they'll be coming after us again," Greg huffed, frustrated.

"No," Sherlock said. "There's another, far more valuable target out there right now. No one will care about you."

"Good, nice to know someone doesn't care about me for once," said Greg. "So what's the new tar—don't tell me. The Canadian package?"

Sherlock nodded. "The Canadian package. That is why I can not help you with your cases you have now or those kids. Maybe after all this has past but not right now. Lestrade," Sherlock stood up. "That package in Canada is my life. If it is lost, I will die a true death & this time, I could not return. Understand?"

"No, not completely no," Greg shook his head. "But enough. Barely, but enough."

"Good."

"How'd you end up in my office tonight?"

"It was safe & close by," Sherlock said. "Everyone else was too far. So I went to you first."

"I see," Greg nodded then half-laughed. "I'm uh, touched."

"Oh please!" Sherlock moaned, sending the room into sudden loud laughter. Sherlock waited for everyone to be quiet before adding, "I know the men who did this," He gestured quickly to his own wounds. "But do not attempt to go after them. I'll get them myself. They're trained assassins & not your common London criminal."

"How many?" Greg asked.

"Four."

"Wonderful," Greg glowered.

"They won't target anyone else," Sherlock said. "It was just for me. They got what they wanted."

"How is it you're still alive after meeting four assassins?" Greg went on.

"They weren't here to kill me," Sherlock said. "Just to send me a message." He looked down over his own body a moment. "Message received."

"You let them beat you up," John stated suddenly. "So they'll think they're finished with you for now."

"For now," Sherlock nodded. "John, there's hope for you yet. Now you see why I say I'm fine? I only let it go on as far as I needed it to."

John rubbed his face with one hand & shook his head. "Bloody brilliant." He suddenly laughed. "You. The Great Sherlock Holmes. Master of death itself. Bloody brilliant."

"Thank you John."

John cast Sherlock a dark glare. Greg noticed & said, "Uh Sherlock? Sarcasm is a foreign language to you, isn't it?"

Before Sherlock could say anything, John began in a rant. "Do you have any idea, ANY idea, at all of what you put us all through? Not just us, Mycroft? My God man! He should be here now. Hearing this!" John was in tears at this point. "You wrecked all our lives."

"I saved your lives!" Sherlock shot back. "You'd all be dead by now if I didn't jump. I did it to protect all of you. Don't you get John? How can you not understand? I know you're not that stupid!"

"I stood there!" John went on. "At your grave. Knowing, thinking I knew anyway, that you were lying under all the dirt. I asked for a miracle then."

"I know that," Sherlock interrupted. "I heard you ask me to stop being dead. Here I am." He spread his arms wide in presentation. "Problem solved. What more do you want?" He took a step towards John. Everyone else shrank back to let the two friends fight it out.

"You were there?"

"Well of course I was there. What did you expect? It's my burial site. Why shouldn't I be—" There was a crack, which everyone found out seconds later that it was Sherlock's face as he suddenly went down hard. John had moved at lightening speed. "What are you doing?"

"Those assassins started a job. I'm finishing it!" John threw himself on Sherlock & the two wrestled around on the floor.

"John—JOHN! That's quite enough now. John, you're hurting my wounds."

"I'm not hurting you enough!" John screamed at him. "I can never hurt you enough for the pain you caused me & everyone else." He had his hands on Sherlock's shoulders, digging his nails in.

"John! STOP IT!" Sherlock tried to throw him off but was already weakened with the previous fight with four men, plus the morphine from the hospital didn't help matters much. "JOHN WATSON!"

"Come here," Greg finally grabbed John & lifted him off Sherlock. "Look we have more important things to do than turn on each other." He glared at John & after a while, John nodded once. Greg pushed him aside. "Now, we need to get that Canadian package here. We need to find out the true connection with those kids a few years ago & Sherlock. We need to find whoever's after that Canadian package. We need to get those four assassins out of my jurisdiction AND!" Greg sighed before going on. "We need to sleep. That includes you, Sherlock Holmes & no, do NOT look at me like that. Go to bed. NOW! John, see that he sleeps."

John crossed his arms, glaring at Sherlock. "Believe me he will. Like a corpse in a grave."

"Oh that's rich," Sherlock muttered, somewhat absent-mindedly while gingerly touching his battered marks on his face. They were puffing up again, no thanks to John aggravating the fresh injuries.

"Let's all get some rest," Greg repeated. "We all seem to have some work cut out for us. We'll start later today." He headed for the door, paused & turned back for a moment. "By the way Sherlock, did you know that Earth goes around the sun?"

"Get out!"

Greg burst out laughing as John said, "You're quite cute when you're mad, Sherlock." He was answered with a glare of death itself. He then noticed John beckoning for his attention & headed down stairs.


	5. Chapter 5

**(5) Are You Real?**

"Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson stood up, walked over & wrapped her arms around him. "Don't ever scare me like that again. You hear me, boy?"

"If I must, perhaps then you'll know why," Sherlock slightly returned the hug.

Mrs. Hudson laughed. "Oh! I have your violin & music sheets. I've been practising a little. Let me go bring them up."

"Thank you," Sherlock lit up like a child receiving the best Christmas gift ever. "I have missed that violin."

Mrs. Hudson left, leaving Molly & Sherlock alone. Molly sighed before asking, "What exactly did they do to you tonight, anyway?"

"I'm unable to say."

"Not even to me?"

"Not this time," Sherlock stood up. "It's irrelevant anyway. A minor set back which is already taken care of."

"I see," Molly said. "So, you ready for the last two steps in this?"

Sherlock sighed & it actually sounded tired. "I still don't understand how everything went so wrong last year."

"No body's perfect, Sherlock," said Molly. "Occasionally, least of all you."

Sherlock glared before scoffing it away, "Ah there's always something afoot."

"We'll get—" Molly began but Sherlock grunted & shook his head, nodding to the stairs. Molly lowered her voice & changed the one word she almost let slip out, to a neutral one. "the package. We'll get it home." Sherlock smiled lightly, quickly, nodding approval of the words she had used instead. "I should get going," Molly went on. "I'm to meet up with the package in Iceland in a few days. I should start getting ready to leave."

"Then from Iceland, we meet in one more detour & then come home," Sherlock bounced a little on the balls of his feet in excitement. "After that ..."

"We strike," Molly nodded. "I know the plan. I didn't think we had to move so fast though. Good night."

"Good morning, actually," Sherlock said. Molly laughed softly & headed downstairs.

"Good morning Greg. John," Molly nodded as she passed.

Both men returned a quick greeting, taking a moment to watch her leave in a cab. "I can't believe she was in on this the whole time." Greg muttered.

"It makes sense though," said John. "Having someone working in a mortuary help you fake death."

"I know," Greg paused before complaining. "I have such a stress headache with all this." He pressed a hand to his forehead a moment. "Anyway John, I need to ask you about that bruise Sherlock showed us. It's black. Like the sky at night. Also it's bigger than a hand-span. I'm no doctor but, is it possible I did that when I tripped over him?"

"Not a chance."

"Thought so," Greg nodded. "John, something is very wrong with this picture."

"You're wondering if that's really Sherlock up there?"

"Well the thought had crossed my mind."

"But?"

"No one can keep up that kind of arrogance in pretence all these years," Greg said.

John snickered. "I said something similar to him when James started pulling his 'Richard Brook' story on us."

"Well if Moriarty really is real," Greg began. "That leaves us with only one other theory."

"He is real," John said. "He nearly blew me up during his bombing game. I was the final pip."

"I know," Greg said. "Mycroft confessed to me certain things about that man & then this about Molly being his girlfriend. I think Sherlock is who, not to mention what, he says he is."

"Again, but?"

"Since he isn't faking it, he's obviously hiding something," Greg finally said. "This time, something big but I don't know what that is & that is what I don't like."

"I hope to find out as soon as possible," John said. "I need to have a good long talk with Sherlock."

Greg looked at him & felt a pang of pity for the soldier. Of everyone, John had taken it the hardest. It was as if two people had died that day. "You do need it. After what you accidently did about a month ago. You definitely need to be up there with Sherlock right now. Sort everything out." Greg pulled his coat a little more closely around himself as John moaned softly. "I am glad he's back, particularly for your sake. Do try to find out what's going on though. I just know we're going to get dragged into it anyway. Somehow."

"Absolutely," John nodded. "See you later, Greg." He closed the door as Greg left & looked at the stairs. Mrs. Hudson had gone up with the violin a long time ago & was now back in her own flat preparing a very early breakfast.

Then he heard it. Violin music once more coming from 221B. John followed it upstairs & stood in the doorway, watching. Sherlock was standing in his usual place near the window & rubbing the bow back & forth over the strings, playing again his long lost melodies. He finished the piece & stopped, lowering both the violin on one side & the bow on the other. He knew John was there. Sherlock finally turned to look at him. He lay bow & violin aside.

"So," said John, heaving a sigh.

"So?" Sherlock echoed. "Here we are."

"Here we are again," John half-laughed. An awkward moment passed. "I uh, I lost your riding crop."

"That's the first thing you manage to say to me after all this & we're finally alone & able to talk?" Sherlock asked. "You did not lose it as I've had it with me all this time."

Another moment passed, though not quite as awkward as John was lost in thought & not concentrating his dead friend back from the grave standing before him. He suddenly put it together. "You're the one who busted the stall. You made it look like that creature broke out & ran off on its own. No wonder Mycroft couldn't find it."

"Excellent," Sherlock nodded approval. "Bach is fine. He's with me."

"Another friend that knew you were alive," flew off the end of John's tongue before he could stop himself.

Sherlock merely blinked at him. "My stallion was not a target. In fact, I do believe Bach is one of the few things that James never figured out about me back then."

"Mmm," John held his face with both hands, rubbing his forehead.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," John muttered. "Just tired."

"You are more than tired," Sherlock took a few calculated steps toward him, trying not to limp. "Your hair has far more grey in it. Your face more lined. Stress usually does that. You've been stressing over my jump all this time. While most of my things are gone from this place, what is left is still in the exact position since I was last here, meaning that you hated the change in your life & didn't want to change any more. As to my things, Mycroft probably has them since it's customary to give the effects of the dead to the nearest living kin. That is annoying since I can't go collect right now & have to acquire a few things all over again. Your sister & Clara are married. Again."

"How did you know that last one?" John's jaw dropped to the floor for a moment.

"I ran into them a few days ago in Cardiff. Both had the customary wedding rings on their left ring fingers."

"Great," John muttered. "My own sister knew about you before I did & yet she never called me to tell me."

"No, she didn't recognise me," Sherlock said. "She never knew I was there. Besides, she was too googly-eyed for Clara to notice much else anyway. It's a shame really."

"I thought you were fine with the gay life?"

"I am," Sherlock said. "I never said there was anything wrong with that. The shame is that Harry & Clara don't seem to last. I give it, oh, seven months this time."

"Anything else?" John muttered, glaring at Sherlock but inwardly laughing.

"Yes, the second most important thing, for you," Sherlock nodded to some random point on John. "That watch I gave you for a birthday present isn't working. In fact, it has stopped at the exact date of my jump. You never wound it up that day or ever since. That means that someone did die that day, but it wasn't me."

It was all John could do to hold back the tears. How could that man stand there & say something like that yet make it sound so simple? "You truly are Sherlock Holmes, aren't you?" Sherlock didn't answer. He merely looked away for a moment. "You have any idea what it's like watching helplessly as your friend literally throws himself away? Never mind. What's the most important thing?"

"My note."

"You're note?"

"Yes."

"I didn't see any note."

"You won't either. You heard it. The one I spoke to you about before I jumped."

"What about it?"

"John, you had the information in front of you since the beginning," Sherlock took a few more steps towards him & actually put a hand on his shoulder, the one he was shot through years ago. "What did I say in that note?"

"It's all true."

"Yes, I was referring to myself. Sherlock Holmes. I was true."

"But then you said you were fake."

"I was at that particular moment," Sherlock said. He moved his hand from John's shoulder down to take his hand in his own. Looking John in the eyes, he continued, "My fright of jumping. My 'gathering courage' to jump & die. My death. Just an act. All very fake indeed. Obvious, isn't it?" Annoyingly, he had 'the look' on his face.

John glared at Sherlock. "How could anyone figure that out you great blithering idiot? You'd have to be completely mental."

Sherlock put his hands in the air. "Well, you can't blame me for trying."

"Trying, hmm. More like failing. Epic fail there actually."

"Whatever," Sherlock actually pouted, not getting the praise & flattery he expected to get.

"Anything else?"

"Only one thing," Sherlock said. "Do you have any morphine?"

"Not at the moment."

"Oh, never mind then."

"Is your headache back?"

"No. I would have had a use for morphine later. Some other time perhaps."

John looked curiously at Sherlock, wondering what he was going on about but decided to not press the issue. "So what now? Where do we go from here?"

"According to Lestrade, bed apparently." Sherlock stepped away & took his time to make it to the kitchen. He gathered up the tea cups & two mugs & put them on the counter.

"Good point," said John. "Shall we retire then?"

Sherlock stopped washing the few dishes & turned to look at his friend. He had a quizzical look in his eyes. "Very well then," He started. "If you wish." He glanced at the nearest bedroom door, his own, then back at John.

"Sherlock, I didn't mean together."

"But what you just said sounded like an invi—"

"I didn't mean it like that," John laughed a little in spite of himself. "Good night." He marched past Sherlock into his own bedroom door.

"Morning, actually." Sherlock was still slightly confused.

Before closing his door, John flashed Sherlock an evil smile. He then began to sing softly, "The Earth always goes around the sun, 'round the sun 'round the sun. The Earth always goes around the sun, all day long."

"JOHN WATSON!" Sherlock was literally shaking with impatience. "That is now the fourth time I have to delete that useless information. Don't tell it to me again!"

"It's primary school, dear Holmes!" John called through his closed door. He heard something thump against it as if Sherlock had thrown something. John chuckled to himself as he sat on the bed. He stayed there, lost in thought, going through all the events leading up to now in his mind. Everything felt surreal.

Soft lilting music began to sway John from his thoughts. Clearly, Sherlock already had his weekly nap & would probably be up playing until dawn. It didn't matter as the music was gentle, almost like a lullaby. John felt he could actually sleep a bit, provided Sherlock stayed in the same mood for a while. That man was capable of making the violin sing, such as he was doing now, or scream & scratch in irritation, usually whenever Mycroft was bothering him. Perhaps it was better to steer clear of Mycroft for a bit after all.

The stringed instrument continued to sing well into the dawn. It kept John asleep for a long time. He woke up with a start around 9.30 or so & for a split second he wondered if it had all been a dream. Then everything came flooding back.

Sherlock was alive! John realised that he had woken up to the first day of the rest of his life. He got out of bed & entered the main room of the flat. After a quick check around, John realised he was alone & felt a twinge of panic creep up his spine. Did he just imagine the events of the night? The violin was lying on the table in its case, its bow beside it. If the violin was here, last night had to be real. On top was an opened envelope. John walked over & picked it up. A few brown feathers slipped out. John wondered what kind of bird they came from. Inside was white & black fluff & seemed to be downy feathers. There were one or two more longer actual feathers as well.

"What is this for, Sherlock?" John asked no one in particular since the dead detective was no where in sight.


	6. Chapter 6

**(6) Of Blood, I**

"It's unbelievable, isn't it?"

John dropped the envelope & feathers, startled. "Mrs. Hudson?"

"I was up all night thinking about it all," Mrs. Hudson said. "Sherlock. Here. Alive. I still can't believe it."

"I know," John agreed. "I'm still getting used to it. Do you know where he is?"

"Oh he left in a tizzy about half an hour ago," Mrs. Hudson answered. "Those feathers got him all excited like he usually gets when he finds some random clue. That envelope was taped to the outside door for him. He's at the hospital with Molly to study the feathers."

"Thanks," John grabbed a coat & his cane. "I better go after him. He's supposed to be playing dead, not wandering around in broad daylight."

"You be careful too, John."

"Don't worry," John hurried outside & headed for Bart's hospital. Once there, he headed up the stairs to the old lab where Sherlock used to work. When he arrived, he noticed that all its windows were blocked by thick closed blinds. He tried the door but it was locked. There was light coming through the edges of the blinds.

John tried to peer in & saw Sherlock in a chair, leaning back & looking over his shoulder. He was talking, probably to Molly. The microscope was turned on & waiting in front of him. Sherlock was dressed in new clothing it seemed. From new polished black shoes & black trousers to a black—green?—Black? Depending on the lighting. A dark velvet vest, John decided, giving up. The vest was over a white shirt with a bit of a ruffle peeping out at Sherlock's throat. John shifted to the edge of another window for a different view.

Now he could see Molly standing near a few shopping bags. She must have taken care of things for Sherlock. At least, John hoped she did. Molly had just turned away from Sherlock to look at something on her computer. As she stepped away, John saw a picture of a brown bird. Either an owl or a hawk. Molly stepped out of sight. John returned to his first position just in time to see Sherlock shake his head & focus on the microscope again. Using the top end of his cane, John finally rapped on the window to be let in. The reaction however, was not one he expected.

In a flash, Sherlock was on his feet, staring in John's direction. A very rare look of pure hatred & even a little fear shone in his ice-like cold eyes. He called for Molly & tossed her his gun. Molly pointed somewhere & Sherlock nodded & trotted out of sight.

"Whoa," John stood back. Molly coming for him with a gun was the last thing he thought would happen.

"Who's there?" Molly demanded. "I'm armed!" Then in a lower voice so the person outside could not here. "I have no idea how to use this."

"You point. You shoot."

Molly cast Sherlock a glare before raising her voice again. "Well? What do you want?"

"Molly! It's me. John Watson?"

Molly looked at Sherlock. He gestured in some confusion. "Now what?" Molly whispered.

"Oh for God's sake!" Sherlock muttered, covering the distance to his chair by the microscope in a few strides. He sat down. Molly shrugged. Sherlock put his hands in the air for a moment before finally muttering, "Let him in."

John was waiting for a long time. Had they somehow forgotten him? He looked around, wondering what to do. A lock clicked & the door opened. "Get in here!" Molly ordered. John quickly stepped inside & Molly locked the door behind him. "The next shift doesn't start until 10.30 this morning," She went on to explain. "We weren't expecting any body." She put the gun on the table Sherlock was at & gave it a soft push. It slid over into Sherlock's waiting hand.

"So you put this lab under lockdown until then," John nodded. "Not to mention keep the gun handy since, you know, we're all supposed to play the 'Sherlock is dead' game even though he's running about London City, unprotected & in broad daylight!"

Sherlock grumbled deep in his throat, not amused at all. "These feathers are important. Since you gave all my stuff to Mycroft, I have to come here."

"Of course," John agreed sarcastically. "Are you alright?" He asked, hoping to get something on why Sherlock, not to mention Molly, reacted so strangely to his knocking.

"Me? I'm fine," Sherlock said, looking back into the scope as if nothing happened.

John mentally kicked himself. Of course Sherlock wouldn't give him any information without having to cut it out of him. "You had the strangest look when I knocked. Are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine," Sherlock repeated. John was about to say more but Sherlock went on. "These feathers are very important to me. They have something to do with Canada. I know that much. I just need to figure out which bird they belong to."

The Canadian package again. John knew how defensive Sherlock was about that package. But why? What was it, exactly? "Any luck?"

Smoothly, easily—too easily John realised—Sherlock slipped into his deductive explanation. "The feathers I took had traces of water & mud on them so it must be a web-footed bird or some sort of shore bird. This is a wing feather." He held up one long feather turning it around to the light & giving it yet another thorough inspection. "A rather large bird, judging by this length. I know it's from Canada since this here," He held up a blue soft petal to the light & turned it over, inspecting every side of it. "is a petal from the Harlequin Blueflag Iris, a plant indigenous to Canadian wetlands & is also the provincial flower of Quebec."

"There was a petal in it?"

"Yes, just one. The rest were feathers," Sherlock went on. "The markings on the feathers are mostly grey-brown going into black at the tips. The downy fluff left in the envelope for you is mostly white or black depending where the bird plucked it from her pale & black breast. " John had a strange look as Sherlock said the word 'breast'. He never thought his friend was capable of such words. Sherlock didn't notice, or didn't care, as he kicked the floor & sent his chair wheeling across the room to Molly's computer. A quick tap brought up another picture of a bird. "The Canada goose," He sat back so John could see.

"Lovely animal," said John. "What does this have to do with your package?"

Here Molly stifled a sob & that odd look John had seen moments before when he tried to get in flicked across Sherlock's eyes once more. "These birds are on migration out of Canada for the winter. Due South."

John was thoroughly lost now. Worse, Molly of all people, seemed to get it, yet he didn't. "The package?"

Sherlock looked up at him at last & John felt a panic surge through him. Sherlock's eyes were haunted. Dying. "I lost contact with it."

Well that explained why Sherlock was behaving so oddly at the moment. John knew how important this package was to him. "Alright Sherlock," John knelt down in front of his friend's chair & took one of his friend's hands into his own. "We will get it back. Sherlock, I'll help you. But I still don't get what it has to do with the migration?"

Sherlock closed his eyes & sighed, reining in what little patience he had. "The package was, in a sense, on its own migration. Into Iceland where Molly would have met up with it to bring it a bit closer home. The people I'm up against who want their hands on it stole that package on its way. Now instead of coming home, it's getting farther away from me."

"Ah in the direction of the geese," John clued in at last.

"Yes," Sherlock nodded. "They're leaving Canada. So is my package but not in the direction I wanted it to. It should have come Eastward. Here, Not South like Canada's geese." Pulling his hand away, Sherlock sat forward, leaning his chin on his fingertips of folded hands, thinking fast.

John waited a few minutes before rousing Sherlock from his 'mind palace.' "Mind if I ask you something?" Sherlock slowly returned to the world & looked up to him. "Why didn't you just bring this package along the first time around? When you came here last night?"

"John, I've been in Britain for nearly two months," Sherlock replied. "Those four men were coming for that package. So I left it in a secure location & moved away. For a while, I kept up the pretence that the package was with me."

"Like the broken-winged mother duck," said John. "Leads predators astray & then is suddenly fine & flies home."

"Precisely where I got the idea from," Sherlock admitted. "I led them on a merry little chase all over the world but they finally caught up to me here. Realising I never had my package with me in the first place, they become rather upset with me, the results of which you witnessed during the night just past."

"They moved pretty darn fast if they went from here to Canada in a few short hours," said John.

"No," Sherlock shook his head once. "Those four men have a leader back there. That's the one that went for it & found it now. While I was leading them around, I kept contact with those in charge of that package. They kept moving it around."

"The idea was to keep one step ahead of its captors?"

"Yes," Sherlock stood up. "After all this time, it failed. Oh, John. How I failed so badly."

John stared at Sherlock in utter shock. "Just exactly what is this Canadian package anyway?"

"I can not say that right now," Sherlock stubbornly answered. "You are right on one thing John. I WILL get it back, even if it truly means my life this time."

"Don't say that!"

"I mean it."

"But don't say it. Damn it!"

"John," Sherlock murmured. He stared intensely into John's eyes, seeking either help or perhaps some level of understanding.

John felt anything but helpful & understood less than Molly. He took Sherlock's hands one each in his own. "Sherlock Holmes, I don't know what's going on with you right now, but we will find this package of yours & keep you alive as well." Sherlock closed his eyes & nodded once as John continued, "I do know one thing."

"What is that?" Sherlock asked.

"Whoever gave you that envelope of feathers left you two messages, unwittingly perhaps."

"What?"

"Well they had to be here to tape it on our door, didn't they?"

Sherlock suddenly grinned at him. "The game is not over yet!" He headed for the door. "Come, dear Watson. We must find them." John cast a glance at Molly & shook his head in disbelief. He followed as Sherlock picked up a long coat & pulled up it's to hide his face.

"Good luck," said Molly as the two men exited the lab. The only question now was where to look.

Sherlock dragged poor John through half of London that day. With Lestrade's help through texting, he was able to get airport lists of those leaving the country, heading for Canada, but doing a search through each one, Sherlock's four names didn't show up. If anything that made him happy & after checking every list, he would give John a childish-like smile & say, "They're still here."

It was late in the evening by the time they went home. John thought he had never been so happy to see '221B Baker Street' loom up in front of him. John felt that they hadn't found anything. Sherlock on the other hand, as usual, seemed to have a clear idea of what was happening.

"I have no idea where we're going," John muttered before yawning.

"Outskirts of London," said Sherlock. "In the country. They're keeping an eye on me."

"Great," John was unimpressed. The last thing he wanted was to have not one but four assassins watching him while he slept. Having Sherlock for a flatmate was freaky enough. Having Sherlock for a flatmate again after death was even more strange.

"So I'll be sending you to Canada then," Sherlock went on.

"Send me where?" John was suddenly wide awake.

"In Canada," Sherlock repeated. John blinked at him in confusion. Sherlock puffed up in irritation & began speaking slowly & clearly. "It's a country. Across the ocean. Part of the North Amer—"

"I KNOW WHAT & WHERE CANADA IS!" John shrieked in sheer frustration. "I'm not stupid."

"Well, not that stupid at least, I hope."

"Sherlock!"

"My best man on the job," Sherlock went on hurriedly. "You'll find out where that package went off to."

"We already know that," said John. "With the geese."

"Not literally, John," Sherlock muttered. "You can pick up the trail & get it back on track."

"I don't know what I'm looking for," John tried again.

"I'll keep in touch," Sherlock said. "I'll text you the information as you need it."

"A need to know basis?"

"You'll be fine," said Sherlock.

"When do I leave?"

"I wouldn't know that," Sherlock gave him a look, trying to make a point.

John nodded his head. "Since we're being watched, you want me to leave randomly."

"But soon," said Sherlock. "It's very important. Once you're in Canada, then text me & we'll work from there."

"James once bugged this place with cameras," John suddenly added. Sherlock sat back with a bleak look. "How do we know this place isn't bugged again & they're hearing this?"

"Already taken care of," said Sherlock. "Lestrade was in here earlier today, looking for just that. He did a thorough job by the looks of it." John blinked. "The stairs are a bit dirty from a lot of use today. Mrs. Hudson won't be pleased since she just did her cleaning this morning. Your chair is moved over three inches. You can tell by how it's off its marked imprints in the carpet. Our table used to be turned lengthwise but now it's randomly placed in the opposite direction. Lestrade had a team move everything out to be checked while others checked the actual flat. Those books used to be piled loosely on the floor but now they are stacked orderly—well now Lestrade—alphabetically at that, on the mantle. The place is unusually clean, meaning he basically 'combed the flat' so to speak for any camera."

"I missed that," John said with a smile.

"You missed nothing," Sherlock suddenly looked amused. "Lestrade texted me everything he was doing while he was doing it. I did not need to observe or deduce anything this time." John lost his smile.

"Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson called, rapping quickly at the door before entering. "Molly just dropped these off." She put the shopping bags John had seen in the lab on the floor by the door. "I'll have to have a talk with that fine police officer," she went on. "Him & that team of his all but ruined my stairs." John pretended to busy himself with something on the counter, trying not to smirk. "Oh my, but it does look clean in here for once. You boys always make such a mess."

"Sherlock does," John defended. "I don't."

"You leave your things lying around all the time, John," Sherlock pointed out. "Remember when I nearly killed myself when you left that cane of yours on the floor in the middle of the night? I fell right onto my face & bit my inner cheek right through to the outer side."

"Alright, ONE time," John grumbled.

"I can name plenty of other times," Sherlock went on. "Would you like me to continue? Might as well. There was this one time your shoes we—"

John scowled, pulled out his own gun & aimed for Sherlock's nose. "Keep going. You've got your whole life." Sherlock sulked as Mrs. Hudson gasped. John smiled & put his gun away. Seeing Mrs. Hudson's frantic look he said, "What? It shut him up, didn't it?"

"You boys play so roughly," Mrs. Hudson left, quite hurriedly at that.

John laughed quietly to himself. "Sherlock, where are you going now?"

"Just out for some fresh night air." Sherlock was already half-way down the stairs.

"You're supposed to be dead!"

"I'll be back shortly. Just a little business to take care of." He closed the outside door & was gone into the night.

"Damn him!" John started after.

John waited for Sherlock's cab to leave before jumping into his own. He followed Sherlock for nearly an hour, heading further & further into the country. John wondered if his friend was attempting to go after his four assailants on his own. Sherlock's cab finally stopped outside a small country cottage. John allowed his cab to drive past & well away around the corner before getting out & doubling back.

John stepped over the fence & hurried across the field. There were four or five Jersey cows milling about. John headed for the cottage ahead. As he drew closer, he noticed that a small barn was attached to the side of the house. Once close to the door, he heard Sherlock's voice inside the barn, talking to someone. John was about to enter when the double doors swung wide on their own & Sherlock stood there, holding the end of a lead rope linked to the chin of his silver stallion. John stumbled backwards & fell flat on his back as Bach squealed & tried to stand.

"Hold up!" Sherlock ordered, pulling the rope down towards him. "Easy now, it's just John. Hold up now."

"Why the hell did I follow you?" John moaned from his position on the ground. He sat up. "I hate horses."

"Oh!" Sherlock gasped in mock horror.

John stood up, brushing himself off. "Dreadful things, they are."

"Why, how dare you?" Sherlock continued his mocking & covered Bach's ears. "There, there now. Pay no attention to what the mean little war doctor has to say. Hey old boy? Yeah, you want something?"

John blanched at the 'mean little war doctor' comment. He sighed heavily. "Sherlock, what are you doing here?"

"Feeding Bach & taking him out for his usual exercise." Sherlock led Bach into the pasture & let the line out. John realised that it wasn't a lead rope at all but a lunge line. Sherlock made Bach walk, trot, run circles around him, using his riding crop to keep the horse in line.

John moved to sit on the fence, close enough to talk to Sherlock, but away enough to be safe. "Why don't you just ride him?"

"Oh, he won't be able to carry me for a while," Sherlock called back.

"Did he get injured?"

"He was shot once," Sherlock pulled the horse in & stopped him. "See this furrow here?" He placed one finger inside a rut on the horse's withers. "It grazed him. He's just like you, getting shot in the shoulder."

John subconsciously rubbed that shoulder. "That's nice."

"It happened a couple years ago."

John took a moment to consider that. "Any ...recent...injuries?"

"No," Sherlock poked Bach's rump with one end of the crop to get him to move out. "He's been in the stable most of the time. He's just stretching his legs is all."

Now John didn't know what to think. Why couldn't the horse carry Sherlock? He seemed fit enough. "You know, um, Mycroft said he went for a ride to clear his head that day."

"What day?" Sherlock spun around on the spot, watching his horse dance around in a circle.

"You know," John hung his head. "when you jumped."

"I see." Sherlock seemed to have lost interest in the conversation quite suddenly.

"You're just like him," John went on. "You lost something today so here you are, out with your horse."

"I'd be here anyway, seeing as how he is mine to take care of."

"Don't you even want to know how Mycroft's doing?"

Sherlock pulled Bach in once more & held the horse's muzzle between his hands. "I do know, John. I'm watching him." He pushed the stallion out once more & was keen to focus on it more than ever. The conversation was officially closed on Mycroft Holmes.

John sighed, regretting that he didn't even know how Mycroft was these days even though Sherlock apparently did. John hadn't talked to the older Holmes brother in ages & suddenly felt guilty at getting to have this time with the younger one when Mycroft ... didn't. But what could he do? John was stuck at the moment & couldn't do anything but wonder at what Mycroft was doing right now.

Mycroft was currently heading down the length of an underground car port. A chirp sounded from ahead, unlocking his car. Mycroft tossed the keys around in one hand until the one for the car showed up. He opened the door.

"Must be strange living a lie."

Mycroft froze. "What?" He turned around, looking into the shadows. "Who's there?"

"Not taking the limo for once?" the man's voice went on. "I don't blame you. That is one nice Jaguar. I'd like to show it off now & then to." Mycroft continued to look around. He put one hand on his hip. "Oh don't bother with a gun. I'm not here to kill you. I just have to tell you something."

"Where are you?" Mycroft kept his hand on his gun anyway.

"Certainly not where you're looking."

Mycroft turned around slowly, scanning the area. "What do you want?"

"Closer, but still cold. Anyway, how's your little brother?"

Mycroft closed his eyes for a moment of grief. He then looked over the roof of the Jag. "Anyone who knows the Holmes family knows he committed suicide three years ago."

"Did he? Oh, I'm sorry about that. Must have missed the reports. Guess I was wrong."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh nothing," the man went on & Mycroft thought he could feel that person shrug. "I guess John found himself a new pet to replace Sherlock Holmes at last. After all these years. I was sure it was your brother, but you say otherwise."

"John. John Watson?" Mycroft said a bit loader. "He witnessed Sherlock's jump. What are you talking about?"

"Like I said, must be strange living a lie while all your friends are running around London & even Canada with the truth."

"What are you saying?"

"Stranger still, most of them don't even know what exactly is going on, other than a package from Canada."

"I don't know what you're talking about. Come out & talk to me."

"My, my. What a spot of trouble … eh? 'Toodles', Mr. Holmes."

"Wait!" Mycroft called out but he heard someone walk away & a door close. He glanced back & forth but saw no one. He slid into the driver seat of his car. He knew that voice. Somehow. He knew it, but couldn't place it. Mycroft breathed in a few long breaths before putting the Jag in gear & driving home. He planned to put a few of his staff on that trail to find out who was with him


	7. Chapter 7

**(7) Of Blood, II**

Bach was bedded for the night & John walked beside Sherlock in silence as they headed down the road. They would catch a cab shortly, but for now, it was good to walk in the fresh night air. Falling a footstep or two behind, John watched Sherlock move across the ground. He was still hiding a limp, more easily now that Sherlock seemed to be used to it. John wondered if he should finally broach the subject & find out just what had happened to his friend the night he returned into everyone's life. He hesitated a moment.

"You are not using your cane anymore?" Sherlock broke the silence.

"Uh, it, you know, comes & goes," John said before laughing. "Too bad, since you seem to need it right now."

"I'm fine," Sherlock shrugged it off. "Lestrade tripped all over me. It'll heal."

They continued silently down the road. Sherlock was still one or two paces ahead. The collar of his coat was open & slightly flowing back in the night breeze. John could easily see the pale color of Sherlock's throat. "Hey wait a minute," John suddenly stopped, forcing Sherlock to stop as well & turn to look at him. John put one hand into the coat collar, pushing it away even more. One finger stroked against the side of Sherlock's neck. John stepped away. "Where's that scarf of yours? You never go around without it."

"It's in Canada."

John stared at him. "Sherlock, is that package your damned scarf? We can just buy another one you know."

"No, but it is with the Canadian package," Sherlock answered. "for safe-keeping."

John glared but gave up for now. They walked in silence for several more minutes before he spoke up once more. "Sherlock?" 

"What now?"

"I was, well I—" John's ringtone suddenly started to chime. "Hang on. Oh. It's Mycroft."

"Don't tell him," Sherlock reminded as they both stopped walking again.

"Will you relax?" John muttered. "Mycroft? Hello."

"Do you mind explaining me what the hell is going on?" Mycroft all but screamed at him.

John actually held the phone away from his ear & winced. He put the phone back to his ear. "Excuse me?"

"Where's my brother, John Watson? How could you, or him, not tell me?"

John lowered the phone & covered it with one hand. "Sherlock, he knows you're alive." Sherlock stared at him.. "Sherlock? What do I do? He's mad. At me!"

"Well, uh, get rid of him then," Sherlock hurriedly smacked John's hand holding the mobile & it went flying.

John grunted in surprise before face-palming. "What do we do now? What do we do?"

"I don't know. That was not supposed to happen now."

John started to say, "Who told him?"

"Shut up! I'm trying to figure that out. Don't even think!" Sherlock had his hands in the air, looking at things only he could see from his 'mind palace.' After a while he asked, "You sure you didn't tell him?"

"Yes."

"You're absolutely sure?" Sherlock started to circle him like a vulture.

"Ye—Sherlock."

"You're the one who kept the most contact with him," Sherlock went on without listening. "People tend to let things slip over tea sometimes."

"Sherlock! I did not even see him since you got back."

Sherlock stopped interrogating the poor war hero & returned to his 'mind palace'. John moved away to give him some space. "Hello? John? Are you there? John Watson, answer me right now!" John glanced down & saw his mobile. It was still working & Mycroft was still yelling at him. Well, perhaps for him at the moment.

John picked it up. "I'm sorry, Mycroft. I—"

"What is going on in London?" Mycroft demanded.

"We'll explain later, Mycroft. Jus—"

"NOW Watson! I want answers now!"

John was sure he could hear the thud of either a foot stamp or the umbrella banging the ground, possibly both. "Just give me a little time. I'll call you back, ok? Just a little time."

"If you hang up on me, I swear I'll—"

"Soon Mycroft. Just wait." John closed the phone before Mycroft could rant his ear off. Sherlock had moved to stand beside him by now. "He is very upset. I told you to tell him."

"The less he knew the better," Sherlock said. "It's too late now. I'll deal with him."

"Do you have any idea who might have told him?"

"Five."

"Molly. Greg. Mrs. Hudson. Me. Who's the fifth?"

Sherlock sent him a calculating look. "Nine then. Eight, not counting you. Molly wouldn't either since she knows the most. Alright, seven." He pulled out his own mobile & called for a cab.

Once in the cab, Sherlock sat slightly one hip, leaning towards John. He was texting someone. After a few minutes, he finally put the thing down & spoke. "You leave tonight. Stay in this cab until you get to the airport."

"I didn't pa—"

"Molly did. She'll meet you there."

John rolled his eyes. There were times he hated how far ahead Sherlock could get. This was one of those times. A woman pack a travel bag for him? The horror! "Must you think of everything all the time?"

"Yes simply because no one else does," Sherlock replied flatly. "Once you're on Canadian soil, you let me know right away. I will direct you from here."

"Right. I thought you wanted me to leave without you knowing?"

"That was before Mycroft was let in on certain information," Sherlock muttered. "Now we have no choice. The faster we move, the better."

"How do I know I have the package when I see it?"

"You will never have direct contact with it until it is safely in my hands," Sherlock said. "There are only two people in the world who can do that right now. Molly is one of them. But I can't send her since she doesn't have as much practise finding information like you do. You're there to find the trail where it went off course. There is one person in Canada who will help you."

"The other one who can handle the package right now?"

"Yes," Sherlock nodded. He then noticed something. John looked somehow disappointed. "John, it isn't because I don't trust you with it. I do. That's why you're going. It's because the less anyone knows right now, the safer it is. I am only trying to keep you safe, unless, you want me to jump off a building again?"

"I—no of course not," John half-smiled at Sherlock's cruel attempt at a joke. "I understand."

"Good," Sherlock said.

"No I don't," John suddenly changed his mind. "You let Molly in on absolutely everything, yet not your best friend?"

"Molly only knows since she was there from the beginning," Sherlock defended. "It is not a matter of preference; it is a matter of coincidence."

"Something's missing," said John. "Since you & Molly have been together this whole time, why did you ask if she was still working at the hospital? You should know that."

Sherlock gave him 'the look' before saying, "I was referring to her shift, obviously." John scoffed & tossed his head in much the same way Bach would do when annoyed as Sherlock went on. "By the way, do you speak French?"

_"Oui!" _("Yes!")

"How well?"

"I'm trilingual. My English & French are perfect. My Spanish needs some help still."

"You are sure you're comfortable with French?"

"Yes, Sherlock," John tried to get a word in edgewise.

"Good," Sherlock moved on. "You'll be landing in Quebec."

"Quebec?"

"It's part of Cana—"

"_Sans blague, Sherlock!" ("No shit, Sherlock!)" _John snapped. "Moving on."

Sherlock gave him 'the look' once more before continuing. "Once you re-establish connection between that package & I, you come straight back here." He stretched out his right arm & rubbed it down. "Hmm, I should add a few more." He pulled a box of nicotine patches from his pocket. John grunted disapprovingly & rolled his eyes a moment to soon. Pulling up his sleeve, Sherlock exposed not one but five patches already on him. He slapped on two more.

"Sherlock."

"What? I need something to distract me," Sherlock muttered. "I wish I was going to Canada. At least one can smoke like a chimney there." John rolled his eyes for the second time inside a minute. The cab stopped at their flat & Sherlock got out.

John soon found himself entering the international airport. Molly was waiting for him & handed over a travelling bag. She showed him the top pocket. Unzipping it, John found inside an envelope with a round trip plane ticket & $2000 Canadian pounds. Wait, dollars right? John sighed heavily & decided to figure that one out on the plane, after a nap.

John landed in Quebec, Quebec City several hours later. It was late in the afternoon however, due to the time zones, when he settled into a small hotel near the airport. He soon found out that his French was not Canadienne French at all which caused some mild confusion but he was able to muddle through. He also found out the hard way that speaking English was looked down on. No wonder Sherlock was insistent on the French.

Once alone in the hotel room, John turned to his mobile, or whatever Canadians called it. Cell phone right?

I'M HERE. NOW WHAT?

-JW

After a few minutes, he had a reply.

FIND FRANCOIS VAN LUNE

-S

John sighed & laid the thing aside. He suddenly thought of something. Picking up the 'cell phone' again, he rechecked the last message. Something didn't look right.

SHERLOCK?

-JW

WAS THERE SOMETHING ELSE?

-S

NO. JUST CHECKING.

-JW

GOOD IDEA BUT NOT NECESSARY. FIND HIM NOW.

-S

John decided it was nothing. Either Sherlock simply signed out with S instead of SH now or he really was using the H but the text was broken & didn't show it.

HAVE YOU FOUND HIM YET?

-S

"Oh for God's sake!" John growled to himself. Yes, that certainly was his idiot friend on the other end alright.

YOU'LL KNOW WHEN I DO. GO AWAY!

-JW

DO HURRY. IT IS IMPORTANT AFTER ALL.

-S

John put the blasted thing away & set out to find Sherlock's man. It wasn't until nearly three days later when John finally tracked Francois Van Lune down in a small country chateau outside Montreal. John hurried down the walkway & knocked on the door.

It opened to reveal an older man either late 60's or early 70's. He glanced curiously at John. Then asked in English, "Can I help you?"

"Do you know Sherlock Holmes?"

"Sherlock Ho...Ah, yes Sherlock!" Francois exclaimed excitedly before glaring & throwing the door completely open. He held a gun to John's face.

"Whoa!" John yelped, taking several steps back. "Well that blows the theory that Canadians don't bother with guns right out of the water."

"Who are you?"

"John!" He took another step back. "John Watson."

"John Watson?" Francois echoed. He put his gun down. "Sherlock's told me all about you."

"Funny that," John didn't rightly care. "He told me nothing about you."

"It's supposed to be that way right now," Francois stepped aside. "Come in."

"You speak English," John stepped inside at last.

"I speak both English & French Canadienne."

"I got into a little row when I tried speaking English," John explained.

"Mmm the Quebec locals prefer their bloody French," Francois muttered.

"It isn't even the same as real French, like what someone in actual France would speak," John complained.

"I know," Francois led John through the parlour to a sliding glass door leading into the garden. A young woman sat on a swing. John took a quick look around & for a second he thought he saw Sherlock's face in the rosebushes, but that was impossible. He shook himself. "This is my daughter, Clarisse."

"Ma'am," John bowed slightly.

"Hello," Clarisse smiled at him as a small girl ran up to her.

The girl tugged on the woman's dressed & pointed back the way she had run. "Stuck. It's stuck." The woman allowed herself to be led into the garden to pull out something from one of the shrubs. It was a dark color either green or black & looked like a blanket but John couldn't really see the part of it that showed through the branches.

Francois pulled John back inside. "So I assume you're here about this package Sherlock is trying to keep safe?"

"Yes, we lost contact with it," said John sitting down as Francois handed over some coffee.

"Sugar & cream is on the table there," Francois sat in a chair opposite John. "Sherlock spoke very highly of you while he was here. But before I tell you anything, I need to know what you know."

"Not much," said John. "Only that he's willing to die for this package. I'm in Canada looking for it. Also, the geese."

"The geese?"

"Migrating south aren't they?" John said. "We got an envelope of Canada goose feathers around the same time Sherlock lost contact with his precious package. We think it was stolen on the way to Iceland & is now heading south, much like the geese, instead of home to England."

"Excellent!" Francois sat back, pressing his fingers into a steeple under his chin in much the same way Sherlock did. "I was hoping that would work."

John looked up in horror, a thousand scenarios running through his mind. He had walked into a trap. How stupid to say all he knew. "What do you mean?" John tried to work himself out of this mess.

"It isn't what you think," Francois laughed at John's expression. "Before I explain, do send my condolences to Sherlock for the grief I caused him. It was the only way."

"For what?" John demanded.

"I almost did lose Sherlock's package," Francois admitted. "I was able to hide it in time, leaving a false trail in its place. Whatever is travelling to the south is not Sherlock's concern. The real one is right here in my house."

"Why didn't you tell Sherlock that?"

"That's where it got tricky," Francois said. "I knew the ruse would only last a short time. So I moved that package right away without waiting for Sherlock's permission. In the process, those guys that went after Sherlock stole my cell phone as well. So I've been maintaining radio silence if you will, so as not to compromise anyone further. My cell phone & Sherlock's are link. They'll be going after his as well. I'm glad you're here. In fact, I was expecting either him or you to show up soon. We need to reset some data & come up with a new plan while at the same time, allowing the old one to appear as if it's working, if only to buy us some time."

"The phones are linked?"

"All the information about Sherlock's package is in his & my cells. I'm sorry, mobiles right?" John nodded & Francois continued. "He needs to hide that information right now."

"Hold on," John opened his own phone. "I'll let him know."

"No not like that," Francois pulled John's phone from his hand. "It could be tracked. Go back & tell him right now in person. I'll set up some information with my new cell & give it to you for him."

"Before I do, I have one question," John began. "Do you know of these four assassins that attacked Sherlock a few days ago?"

"They got to Sherlock?"

"Yes."

"I have a pretty good idea of what they may have done to him," Francois sighed before going on. "They're not assassins, just some hired thugs to rough Sherlock up when they found out that the package they had was the wrong one."

"Do you know who hired them?"

"Yes," Francois didn't offer any more information.

"They're still after him," John pointed out.

"They will be until either they or Sherlock get their hands on this package."

"Can you tell me exactly what this package is?"

"No."

" 'Course not."

"Wait a few minutes," Francois stood up. "I'll go get the new codes."

John scratched his head. "Codes?" Francois was already gone & couldn't answer.

Fifteen minutes later, Francois returned. He sat down & gave a very serious look at John. "I know I can trust you. I know what Sherlock thinks of you. I need to email you an attachment but you can NOT open it up to look at what's going on yet. You will know soon enough but not now. You need to forward that attachment to Sherlock's new address once he gets a new phone. In the meantime leave it in your phone so it won't be tracked. No one is tracking your phone yet & we're all trying our best to keep Sherlock's friends & family out of it. Understand?"

"Yes." John wondered who 'all' were in this but knew better than to ask right now.

"Keep it safe."

"Yes, I understand that."

"Your email address please?"

John gave it to him & sat back as Francois entered something into an email. He then sent a long hard look at John, holding up his new phone. Then there was a soft 'beep' & John knew the email had been sent. He also understood the look. 'I'm trusting you with it. Don't open it.' John nodded his assurance. Francois lowered his phone to his lap. "Keep Sherlock safe." John nodded again. "Run." John gave a questioning look. "Run now. Go back to England. Hurry."

John hesitated a moment & then shot for the door. He ran down the road & to a taxi, paying the driver a little extra to step on it. He barely took the time to grab his things from the hotel & jumped back into the car & headed for the airport to take the next plane home.

John arrived at the old 221B flat several hours later. "Sherlock? Sherlock!" John started running up the stairs.

"He isn't here," Mrs Hudson called to him. "He's gone back home."

"Home?"

"Well where Mycroft is," Mrs. Hudson said. "Mycroft's in trouble."

"Oh, no!" John ran even faster up the stairs & tossed his travel bag on the chair. He ran to his bedroom, found his gun & made sure it was loaded. On his way down, he asked, "Is Sherlock still injured?"

"He seems to be fine," Mrs. Hudson said. "but I've caught him at a limp still at times."

"Even now," John mused to himself. "Nearly a week later." He left & got into the next cab.

The ride seemed to take forever. John kept glancing nervously out the window at the scenery passing by. They were finally out of the city & heading down the final stretch to Mycroft's country home. John wished he could text Sherlock but if that phone truly was being traced, he couldn't risk it.


	8. Chapter 8

**(8) The Escape**

John got out of the cab at the start of the long driveway & ran down to the mansion set back into the hills. He didn't want the sound of the cab to alert anyone, just in case. It took a few minutes to pass under the archway of birch trees, the lane curving back & forth at least three times. Finally, the property itself came into view. Several acres stretched back on both sides of manicured lawn. In one far field, John noticed three shapes, the horses Mycroft had.

The driveway made a complete circle around a large flower garden with a very old oak tree at the center. A fountain made up of a pool basin between to Cherubs stood at one end & the water flowed out of it into a stream & right through the heart of the garden into another pond. It seemed to be recycled back to the fountain underground.

John took a moment or two as he walked by the garden. He needed to catch his breath from running down the lane. He then trotted up to the manor itself, behind which rolled back a steep hill going into the mountains. He stepped up to the door & noticed that it had been left ajar. He held his gun out & entered. 

One of Mycroft's staff hurried by him. John knew at least three. She noticed him & stopped. "Dr. Watson, what are you doing here?"

"Miss Sandy," John began. "Where's Mycroft?"

"Oh, I don't know," Sandy shook her head. "Master Holmes came home in a rant a few days ago. Saying his little brother is still alive. Oh, he's lost it, he has. His poor little brother."

"What's happening now?" said John. "Mycroft might be in trouble."

"Trouble?"

"I came to find him," said John. "I think someone's going to kill Mycroft if we don't find him."

"Kill Master Holmes?" Sandy's eyes went wide. "Last I saw, he was in his library. But I didn't see anyone else with him."

"Sandy, I let myself in," John nodded to the front door. "That door was left open by someone. Did you leave it open?"

"No that door is supposed to be locked until someone comes to call."

It might have been Sherlock, but John didn't think so. "Take me to the library."

"Yes sir," Sandy quickly led the way.

A quick look around told John that Mycroft was no longer inside. He turned to Sandy. Gunshots suddenly went off. "Get down!" John grabbed Sandy & pinned her to the floor. "Mycroft?" he called out quietly. "It's me, don't shoot. Mycroft?" More shots were fired. John realised that they were coming from down the hall. "Sandy, stay here & hide. I've got to find Mycroft." Sandy nodded weakly as John stood up slowly & made for the door.

He entered the hall & quietly, yet swiftly, made his way in the direction the gunfire came from. John was in his element now. The battlefield was his. He approached unnoticed to the first door leading into the kitchen. Gently shoving it open, he went in gun first, like death himself ready for a feast. No one was there. John turned to leave & continue his hunt but glancing down he saw Hugh Carter, the main cook, lying on the floor in a pool of red. John quickly bent down to check for a pulse. There was none. He returned to the hunt.

John did not hurry his pace. Like a panther out for a kill, he merely flicked his eyes up the stairs leading to the second floor as he prowled around to the base. Only then did he hurry to get up the stairs yet still made no sound.

There was a clatter of something running up the stairs behind him. Something big. John whirled around, gun at the ready. A silver horse suddenly lurched into view. John could feel the hairs on his neck stand on end.

"John," Sherlock reined Bach in. "Mycroft's down in the garage. He needs you."

John almost asked why but somehow realised what Sherlock meant. Mycroft needed a doctor. "Sherlock, how bad?"

"He's been shot, but alive enough," Sherlock said. "He is far too stubborn to die." He kicked Bach's flank. The horse turned right & ambled along the upper hall in one smooth movement.

John stared after them for a moment. "Only Sherlock would ride a horse into a mansion." He then fled back down the stairs & to the garage to find Mycroft. He found him lying behind his Jaguar. "Mycroft?" John knelt down beside him. "Where is it?"

Mycroft groaned. "In my side."

"I'll fix it," John pushed away Mycroft's coat & shirt.

"I saw Sherlock," Mycroft cried out as John examined him. He then added, "He's with Bach. It was like seeing a ghost burst out forth from the grave."

"Mycroft."

"How long have you known?"

"Only about a week," said John, ripping material from Mycroft's shirt. "If you want to be mad at anyone, talk to Molly. She's been in on this the whole time. It was partly her idea."

"No, I'm going straight to Sherlock," Mycroft grumbled as John poked at him. "That little brother of mine is going to get an earf—ow!"

"Sorry. All I know is that he was trying to keep you safe by leaving you in the dark," said John. "The bullet went right through, so I can just wrap this up."

"Well now that I know, he can explain everything."

"Yeah good luck with that," said John, standing up & stepping next to the wall behind Mycroft. He picked up a long gold-colored bullet casing & tucked it away in his pocket. "Something's wrong, Mycroft. I don't know what it is, but something happened to Sherlock about a week ago. Come on." John stood up & helped Mycroft to stand.

"Any idea what it is?"

John walked purposely across the garage to the door leading outside. "Just one." Once outside, John led Mycroft across the backyard grounds to the edge of the forest behind the mansion & going up into the hills.

"Why are you bringing me out here?" Mycroft gasped as John helped him to sit down on a large rock just inside the trees.

"You've become a target. I'll keep you safe until Sherlock gets back."

"The one who shot me mentioned something about some package Sherlock has hidden in Canada."

"Ah so you know about that. Good."

Mycroft touched his bandage & moved to find a more comfortable position. "What is it?"

"Only Sherlock knows, but he'd rather die than tell any of us," John crouched down in front of Mycroft. "You were not supposed to get caught up in this. Oh well, it's too late for that now. Who shot you?"

"I don't know," Mycroft said. "I didn't see anyone. Next thing I knew my side was burning & I was on the floor so I played dead. I figured the Jag would keep me out of sight."

"Good thing I found this then," John held up a used bullet casing. It had blood on it from going right through Mycroft.

"Maybe we can find out where it came from," Mycroft said before suddenly exclaiming. "My God! What is he doing now?"

John turned to look back. The mansion was long & high, glistening in the sun. Its roof was flat & had a balcony railing around it. Glancing up to the roof top, John stared in surprise. "...Mycroft …no." He fell to his knees, staring up to the roof. "Please not again. SHERLOCK!" John's final scream echoed through the forest.

"I don't think he's there to jump."

Sherlock was on the roof …. on the horse. They streaked down the full length of the mansion, using the flat roof as a race track. As they neared the edge, Bach was slowed down to a walk even though he was being chased. Both beast & rider suddenly disappeared into the roof through a door leading inside & John saw no more of either for a while. He closed his eyes but immediately snapped them open again as an image of Sherlock free-falling to his supposed death haunted him as if he was reliving that very day.

Down the stairwell, the horse jumped a flight at a time. Bach stopped dead in front of the door as Sherlock jumped off & stepped onto the first stair. He went to a keypad & started punching codes into it. He remounted as the door in front of him opened. A man blocked his way.

"Hello," said Sherlock pleasantly. "Mr. Arlin."

"You have led us all on a merry chase," Mr. Arlin complained. "Why don't you just stop resisting us & hand it over already?"

"I'd rather not," Sherlock replied flatly & then suddenly kicked his horse into gear. Arlin was knocked aside into the wall as Bach lurched passed. He got up & was about to call for help but Sherlock pulled out a small sword hanging from the saddle & swung it over his head cutting strings to several tapestries hanging down the length of the central wall. They fell over Arlin, hindering him from going anywhere for the moment.

The silver stallion burst into the central hall where Mycroft's art collection was on display. The three other men Sherlock was looking for whirled around in surprise. Sherlock jumped off as Bach cantered past. "Miss me?" Sherlock held the sword in hand. One man pulled out his gun but was hit with the broad side of the sword, knocking the gun to the floor, while he stumbled back into a wall. Sherlock merely shrugged nonchalantly while speaking to the man he had just stuck. "I'm more prepared for you this time, Mr. Stanford."

"You were prepared enough the last time," said the second man & the three of them laughed.

"Oh I think not, Mr. Jackson." Sherlock looked at each one in the eyes first & then smacked one man over the head with the hilt of the sword. He went down hard & didn't get up again. Sherlock picked him up. The other two had their guns at the ready but Sherlock used their partner as a shield & let the body drop. The next moment, both their guns were on the floor as well. Sherlock turned to the third man. "So Mr. Wilshire, did he," Here he had a bit more emphasis to the word 'he' before continuing in his usual voice. "send you after my brother now?"

"If it'll draw you out, then yes."

The blade was almost at their throats. Both men together grabbed a picture from the wall above their heads & used it to ward off Sherlock's probing blade, forcing him back. He easily stepped backward, apparently allowing them to defeat him. "Laters!" He suddenly ducked & rolled, forcing both men to dive after him. They only succeeded in cracking the large painting between them & pieces of its frame jammed into them.

Sherlock however, was already through the door to where his horse had stopped, waiting by the large window panes of the parlour to be let out. He stepped up onto the table & then sprung into the saddle. He rode back towards the art room, turned & then charged directly to the window. He dropped the sword & pulled out a gun, firing into the glass. It shattered barely on time for Bach to jump through to the outside.

Sherlock pranced his horse towards the forest where John was waiting with Mycroft. He paused halfway & looked around as if searching for something. Suddenly, he pushed Bach into a canter towards the side of the manor farthest from John & Mycroft. Two men had stumbled into view. Sherlock bore down on them, reining in the stallion so quickly he stood up. Both men stumbled backwards away from flailing hooves before running wildly away. Good. If they were heading for the mansion, the cops could deal with them.

Sherlock dropped to the ground & checked his mobile. Lestrade had answered & was on his way. "Good boy, Bach. You have served me well." He slapped his flanks & Bach gratefully ambled off to graze. Sherlock at last slipped through the forest towards his friend & elder brother.

"Don't you ever, EVER do that again, Sherlock!" John came out of no where, grabbed Sherlock by the collar of his coat at his throat & hauled him sideways. "I don't want to see you on a roof again. Do we understand each other? Never again!" John finally sobbed & was on his knees once more. "I...I still have nightmares of it," he gasped through his tears. "Don't give me any more. Understand? No more roofs!"

"John, it's ok. I'm fine."

"NO IT ISN'T! IT'S NEVER OK WITH YOU, IS IT?" John bellowed at him. "I'm the one who isn't fine, Sherlock! Stay off the roof! Damn you. DAMN you!" He hung his head & muttered. "I hate you. I hate what you did to me. Just stop it!"

"John."

"I said stop it! My mind palace right now. Get out!"

Unsure what to do, Sherlock took a few steps back. He glanced at Mycroft who shook his head. "John, I—"

"SOD OFF HOLMES!" John snarled through gritted teeth. "Sod it all!" He was suddenly on his feet again & stood there, breathing deeply, his lungs heaving in large amounts of air at last after not being allowed to breathe properly for the past several minutes. Sherlock looked more & more confused on what to do with his friend. He took a step closer & suddenly grabbed the man in a rather awkward kind of bear hug. "No. NO!" John tried to throw him off but with little resistance. Sherlock hung on. John gave up as sharp heaving sobs consumed him. He lay his head on Sherlock's chest & allowed himself to be held. Sherlock caught Mycroft's eye & immediately wished he hadn't. Mycroft was alternating between glaring at him & looking sorrowfully at John still sobbing in Sherlock's arms.

"This," Mycroft suddenly nodded to John. "is what you did. To all of us."

"At least you are all alive," Sherlock all but spat at him. "No thanks to you." He manoeuvred the still shaking, incoherent doctor into his left arm & swung hard with his right fist. Mycroft's nose cracked & he stumbled backwards & fell down, his shot wound sending a searing pain all through his side again. Mycroft cried out in surprise & pain. "That," Sherlock glowered at him. "was for my betrayal. For the death I must play now. For John & everyone else. You did this to them. Not me. I did what I had to so they would be safe."

Mycroft tried to swallow but his throat was to dry. He stared at the ground, not daring to meet Sherlock's eyes. The only sounds were the distance sirens of police & John still dry heaving in sobs. Mycroft chanced a look up at his brother. "I am so sorry."

"Are you?" Sherlock looked away & wrapped John completely in his arms again. "You destroyed my life. In fact, you nearly ended it because of what you did."

Defeated, Mycroft found the ground very interesting once more.


	9. Chapter 9

**(9) The Dinner**

John finally pushed Sherlock away & stood back. He refused any more offers of comfort from his friend, muttering that he was fine now. Sherlock took a few steps back as John shoved past him, heading across the grounds to the mansion.

"John took it the hardest."

Sherlock had nearly forgotten his brother was there. He glanced back at Mycroft. "What?"

"John never recovered at all," Mycroft stood up again, clutching his shot wound. "The rest of us found some sense of normalcy eventually, but he got worse & worse. We could do nothing for him."

"Again, whose fault is it?" Sherlock looked pointedly at his brother.

"Sherlock," Mycroft began.

"Be quiet!" Sherlock ordered. "You are supposed to be my elder brother. You are supposed to protect me. What will Mummy ever think of you now other than the traitor to this family? To top that off, how dare you talk to me about John, my only—true—friend?"

"I screwed up," Mycroft tried again, his voice breaking. "I know I did."

"The hell you do!"

Mycroft closed his eyes & turned away. Sherlock rarely swore but when he did, it was better to be dead. They both stood in silence for a long time, Mycroft still not looking at his younger brother who was glowering at him the whole time. Mycroft finally broke the silence. "John was the one who called me after you jumped. Sherlock, it ruined me."

"It's no less than you deserve."

"I know," Mycroft sighed heavily. "I know." He finally tried to look at his brother again. "I could barely understand the poor man. I had to force him to repeat several times. He basically died that day."

"Well that's his fault for caring so much," Sherlock shrugged. "Now that I'm back, he'll forget it easily enough."

"Are you that bloody stupid?" Mycroft ignored the look of rage at being called stupid. "Sherlock! That man's in love with you. You broke his heart. I suggest you fix it."

"Oh for God's sake!" Sherlock started to stomp off.

"Get back here!" Mycroft grabbed the back of Sherlock's collar & held him back. "I'm not finished with you yet," He muttered into Sherlock's ear while standing behind him, still clinging to the collar.

Sherlock tried to swerve & get away. He snarled through gritted teeth "LET GO MY COAT!"

"Of all the impudence," Mycroft grumbled to himself. "Do you not even understand what I said, little brother?"

"I understand perfectly."

"I don't think so," Mycroft said. "How could 'The Virgin' ever understand things like this?"

"I've been well aware about John's feelings since the day I met him," Sherlock tugged at his captivity again but it still didn't work. "He never mentioned anything about it. Why should I be the one to bring it up?"

"Sherlo—"

Sherlock reached behind himself & grabbed at Mycroft's injured side, making him yelp & let go. "It's been three years. You be the stupid one if you still insist I'm virgin." With that, he finally got away.

"You're just saying that," Mycroft huffed, hobbling along after a short distance.

Sherlock strode quickly across the grounds, heading straight for an unsuspecting John who was at the side of the loop-around driveway, talking to Greg. He was in the middle of saying something or other when Sherlock grabbed him roughly with both hands, tossed the poor doctor sideways & pinned him to the side of Greg's cruiser. Before anyone could say or do anything, Sherlock's mouth was firmly locked over John's. His fingers, still in the black leather riding gloves, entwined in the smaller man's hair, holding his head back a bit for better access. The leather pulled slightly at single hairs.

Mycroft stopped mid-step, mouth slightly ajar. "... Bloody hell ..."

"Hmm? MMM! UMMM!" John thrashed around, his eyes fluttering opened & closed, wondering exactly what to do. His eyes suddenly snapped open completely as Sherlock's other gloved groping hand suddenly found what it was looking for; something between his legs & gave him a soft squeeze. Greg buried his head in a double-facepalm. Mycroft had a similar reaction.

Sherlock pushed away from John, crossed the drive without even a backwards glance & climbed up a large boulder in the center garden. He whistled & his silver stallion cantered by. Sherlock jumped into the saddle without breaking the horse's stride, kicked him into gallop & rode hard towards the barn.

John threw his hands in the air & then placed both fists on hips. "Well that's bloody brilliant!" He screamed at the retreating rider, leaning forward slightly with the effort. "What the fuck was that?"

Greg finally managed to look at John, showing some surprise & more than enough amusement in his face. "That was the first time you two did that?"

John glared. "YES!"

"Oh, I thought you guys were partners."

"IN CRIME-SOLVING!" John all but screeched before drawing in a long breath to get his voice under control. "Not ...not ...whatever just happened."

Mycroft finally made it over. "Are you alright?"

"Do I look alright? Hmm? Tell me something. Do I look fine to you?" John was still huffing & glaring. "I'm happy your brother finally figured himself out it seems, but for the last time, I'm not gay!" Mycroft stifled a laugh & headed for the ambulance. "I'm not," John insisted. "What was that scoffing for? Don't you walk away from me, Mycroft Holmes!" He started after the elder Holmes brother.

Whatever John planned to rant about suddenly flew from his mind. Mycroft stood over a covered body. It was Hugh Carter. Mycroft had his face set, glaring over the covered gurney at nothing in particular. Silently as he could, John retraced his steps, leaving Mycroft alone. For now.

While Mycroft & Greg took care of things, Sandy found John & led him inside to the parlour. There was a tray of tea, two cups & biscuits set on one table. John sighed & sat down, wondering who the second person would be. He found himself oddly hoping that it was neither Sherlock or Mycroft at the moment as he was still befuddled by recent events, particularly Sherlock's sudden assault on him.

Anthea appeared instead & sat down in front of him. "So it's true then? Sherlock's alive?"

"Ha! Yeah," John half-shook his head & poured them both tea. "Where is he anyway?"

"Still with his horse," Anthea said.

"Good," John said, before adding, "You've already known about Sherlock, haven't you?" She smiled at him, saying nothing. John sighed & went on. "I need to think things through a bit." He tried to sip at his tea but Anthea's constant staring at him unsettled him. Wait. No, really? He put the cup down. "Does the whole damn United Kingdom know about that kiss?" She shook her head. "Fine, let me guess, Sherlock or Mycroft mentioned it?" She shook her head again. Frustrated, John gave up & snatched his cup from the table once more.

"I saw it."

The cup went back to the table. "Damn him!" John cursed his friend for what seemed like the billionth time by now. "Look, he was just acting out. You know how childish he can be. I'm NOT gay."

"Oh, too bad," Anthea pursed her lips into a pout.

Damn her lips. "Why?"

"Couple of hot guys kissing," She sat back. "Turns me right on." She lifted & crossed her right leg over her left knee.

Noticing just how short that super-mini-skirt was, John raised an eyebrow over the brim of his teacup. "I see." He was seeing quite a bit actually! She may have smiled seductively but John was too busy noticing other things. His eyes finally flew up into hers. "You work for the Holmes family & you think Sherlock is hot?"

Anthea shrugged. "I think they both are."

"I see," John felt stupid for repeating himself. He also realised that he no longer saw as much as he had before since Anthea had put both feet down again.

"I've slept with Mycroft in the past," Anthea went on. "Tried with Sherlock, hoping for a threesome actually, but … well you know how he is with that sort of thing so I gave up on him."

John's mind was swimming in half-thoughts & images. Sherlock went around in nothing but a bed sheet more often than not. How that man managed to retain his virginity all this time was beyond belief. Why wouldn't anyone assault him for once? "Really?" There was no chance in hell he would have a threesome if Mycroft or Sherlock were a part of it & that was final. Perhaps Molly would join inste—WHERE did that one come from? John mentally banged his head, the one his shoulders that is, against an imaginary wall. Try to make sense, please.

"Stay for dinner," Anthea went on, changing the subject. "Mycroft has already made it clear he wants Sherlock to stay a bit. He has some things to discuss with Sherlock so he'll be having dinner in the main dining hall. You could come."

John almost said 'I already did!' but bit his tongue hard. "Uh, sure."

"It'll be nice having almost everyone together again," said Anthea. "Sherlock hasn't been with us these past three years. It'll be good for the others on staff to see him home again."

"No one is supposed to know," John said. "He's playing dead."

"We know that," Anthea defended. "We work for the Holmes family. We'd know by now anyway. The only one who never learned the truth is Hugh, the poor dear."

"Alright, I will," John nodded, then added. "Will I ever learn your real name?"

She smiled softly. "Maybe." She stood up & left.

John tried to prevent himself from watching her arse & swaying hips as she left but gave up. After she was finally out of sight, he considered what he had just agreed to. Dinner with Mycroft & Sherlock at the same table? That rarely ended well. Where was Sherlock by now anyway? John wondered how to face him again. He planned to confront that man on their recent kiss.

Sherlock was currently standing in front of the door to his own bedroom at the Holmes mansion. It had been locked but he had no intention of asking Mycroft for the key. Sherlock glared at the door, checked left & right & then took a few steps back. With a running jump to the door, it cracked & then broke through. That settled that! He pushed the pieces aside & stepped in.

Nearly everything he had at 221B Baker Street was in a few boxes set on the floor. The room itself was draped in sheets & looked like it hadn't been touched since the day he 'died'. "Well now, Mycroft, I guess you really do care. Pity, really." He rummaged around for about ten minutes before finding what he was looking for. After pocketing the object, he left, ignoring the mess he had made with the door.

John was the second to enter the dining hall later that afternoon, following behind Mycroft. Both paused a moment & spared a look at Sherlock who seemed to have been there all day. He was stretched out across two chairs, feet up, ankles crossed. His riding spurs just barely hung over the edge of the second chair. John's breath caught in his throat as he couldn't help but take in the view. Trailing his eyes from the spurs up to the half opened white shirt with a slight ruff on either side, he caught himself noticing the smooth muscle of Sherlock's chest; wherever it wasn't marred by bruises or bound wounds at least. But then, John reached his friend's eyes. The 'Moriarty' glare again. John stayed behind Mycroft, knowing the glare was mostly for the brothers. What was he even doing here?

Sherlock sighed in a bored sort of way & reluctantly straightened himself a bit in one chair.

"Hello to you, too," Mycroft complained at the sour expression his brother was constantly sending him. Sherlock said nothing. Mycroft sat down at the head of the table, indicating where John would sit. Annoyingly, John's chair was directly across from Sherlock's & he had no choice but to look Sherlock in the eye at any given time. John tried to keep his breath even, wondering if it was him or the dining hall that was hot. Mycroft finally said something. "Won't you at least tell me who those men were that attacked this place today?"

"They're after something I have," said Sherlock. "At least Lestrade was able to round up three of them, one of whom is dead anyway. The fourth one managed to escape."

"Might I know what it is you have?"

"No."

"This doesn't have anything to do with Canada, does it?"

"Who told you about Canada?" Sherlock demanded & basically accused at the same time, suddenly very defensive as he usually was whenever that country was mentioned. He cast a glance at John, who shook his head, looking bewildered.

"I'm not sure yet, but I intend to find out," Mycroft said. "Sherlock, just what in the hell have you gotten yourself into?"

"I'm not at liberty to say."

"That's what I get from him a lot," John said without thinking. He shrank back at the double-Holmes-glare.

"John mentioned that you were attacked the night you came back," Mycroft tried a different subject. "What happened?"

"Nothing important," said Sherlock. "It kept what I have in Canada safe. That's all anyone needs to know."

"Sherlock, I had four men try to kill me today," Mycroft pressed as his remaining servants began dealing out their dinners. "Is there anyone else I should worry about?"

"Just the one that got away," Sherlock shrugged, looking down at the plate set before him. John wondered if he was actually going to eat today. Sherlock looked up at Mycroft again as if the plate didn't exist. "Oh & their leader back in Canada."

Mycroft was officially upset. He leaned forward, glaring at his little brother. "You come out of no where. I haven't seen you in three years. Years in which I thought you were dead. The least you can do is pretend to be glad you're back."

"I was glad to be back," Sherlock paused before going on. John knew something horrible was about to be said but had no idea how to interrupt it without losing his head. "Until someone informed you I was alive."

Mycroft slammed the table with both palms flat. "Why don't you run along & say hello to our dear Mummy then? You're grave is right next to hers!"

"You should know. You put it there!" Sherlock retorted as John looked back & forth between them in surprise. Their mother was dead? Come to think of it, John had never really seen either parent at all, but he had been so sure their mother was alive, considering how the boys went on & on about her all the time.

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes!" Mycroft bemoaned his frustrations. John stared first at one then the other Holmes but neither paid him any attention. He had never heard those other names of his friend before. "Now you listen to me brother or—"

"You do the listening!" Sherlock shot to his feet to tower over Mycroft. "Adrian Mycroft, since we seem to be using full names today." John now raised his brow at Myc—Adrian. "I need answers, You're going to give them to me," He glared as he sat down again.

"What do you want?" Mycroft asked.

"Who told you I was still alive?"

There was a long moment & John couldn't help but notice that the staff seemed to be in a hurry to do their job & get away. The enmity between the brothers had doubled it seemed & nearly cracked through the air like lightening. Anthea took a moment to refill John's coffee, caught his eye for a beat in time & then left. "I don't know yet," Mycroft began, ignoring Sherlock's immediate disbelieving sneer. "I honestly don't. While the voice did seem somewhat familiar, it seemed false."

"False?"

"Like he was using something to mask it."

"He?"

"Yes," said Mycroft. "I have some men going over the parking lot, trying to find out who."

"Whom!"

"Do you know?" Mycroft ignored the correction.

"I have an idea. What about the parking lot?"

"I was using the Jag that day—"

"Ah, sexual partner then," Sherlock muttered under breath. (John tried really hard to pretend he didn't hear that one but that turned out to be an epic fail on his behalf.) "Never mind." Limo was for business. Jaguar was for … pleasure, for lack of a better term.

"You should try it some day," Mycroft went on again. "Anyway, as I was saying, I was in Swansea at the time. I returned to the Jag but as I was about to drive away that night, someone was there with me but stayed out of sight. Definitely a man. He told me about you. I called John right away."

"I was out with Bach then," Sherlock said. "That was after midnight." He pulled out his mobile, ignoring Mycroft's eye roll & groan.

Every hair on John's neck stood up in alarm. How could he forget? Sherlock started texting. John didn't act. He reacted! "DON'T USE THAT SHERLOCK!" He threw his entire spoonful of mashed potatoes at his friend before he could think.

"AH!" Sherlock yelped, dropping the mobile to the floor as a white hot wad splattered all over his face. "John! What is WRONG with you?" Even Mycroft stared in surprise, wiping off a bit of mashed potatoes that had flung out & hit him as well.

"I'm sorry," John said. "I didn't mean to hit your face. I was aiming for the phone."

"In that case, you throw like a girl," Sherlock began wiping his own face & pulling the hot mess off his lap from where it fell off the tip of his nose. Mycroft tried to stifle a laugh by taking a sip of his wine. It nearly choked him to death as he continued trying to not laugh.

"When I was in Cana—"

"Don't talk about Canada here."

"Sorry," John said quickly, glancing at Mycroft. "Excuse us for a few moments. Sherlock, come with me." Without waiting for an answer, John headed for the door. Sherlock got up & followed, not bothering with table manners to be excused. He picked up the phone & hurried after John.

John led them down the hall & entered a den room. Sherlock closed the door behind them & waited for John to speak. "In Canada," John started again. "your friend said you've been compromised." John explained everything. Afterward, he held up his own phone. "I have all the new plans in an email here. I have not read it. Everything's in an attachment I must forward to your new mobile."

"So, my package," Sherlock began & John noted the sound of relief in his voice. "It didn't go South?"

"No," John also gasped in relief, though why he didn't know. "They fell for it. At first."

"No wonder they were upset with me that night."

"What night?"

"When I came back."

John sighed heavily before asking, "Sherlock, I don't know how but, someday soon I'll ... I'll find out what they did to you."

"Forget it. It was nothing."

"Wasn't it?"

"I'm fine."

"Ok," John gave up.

They stood in an awkward silence that Sherlock finally decided to break before he became bored to death. "Was there something else?"

"Our, um, what you did earlier. I should say, you know..."

"No, I don't," Sherlock looked John up & down in confusion.

"That kiss," John said.

"Ah."

"I'm not gay."

"I know you're not. Neither am I." Sherlock took one small step towards John & watched him. Unblinking. Haunting. Eyes the color of ice.

John tried to look away but found he couldn't. He suddenly felt uncomfortably hot & his mind was racing. He finally asked in a low voice. "Then what was that for?"

Sherlock had been unmoving & unblinking the whole time that when he spoke, it startled John even though he had expected an answer. "If you have a problem with our kiss, take it up with Mycroft. I have more important things to care about."

"Mycroft? Oh. OH!" John suddenly got it. Of course. Their damn 'brotherly love' was getting out of hand. He stared at the floor again, wondering why he was feeling disappointed. Sherlock was still staring at him when John looked up to his friend once more. Did that man even blink once this whole time?

Sherlock suddenly just did. Then he asked, "Are we finished here?"

"Hmm? Oh, uh, yeah," John said. "We should get back to the table."

"Fair enough," Sherlock turned on his heel & headed out the door.

John watched his friend head down the hall. For some reason, he felt hurt at Sherlock passing it off as nothing more than yet another fight with his brother. John shrugged it off. Why should he care? He wasn't into men, neither was Sherlock by his own admission just now. Still, John took his time to return to dinner. By the time he sat in his place again, Sherlock & Mycroft were once more at each other's throats.

"What did this man say?" Sherlock was asking. "Exact words please."

"That it was 'strange living a lie while all your friends are running around London & even Canada with the truth.'" Mycroft thought a bit before continuing. "Also strange was the fact that 'most of them don't even know what exactly is going on, other than a package from Canada.'"

John could see a flicker of panic pass through Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock breathed deeply, thinking. He suddenly asked Mycroft, "Who shot you?"

"I didn't see," Mycroft said.

"Where were you?"

"In the second garage," said Mycroft.

"I have the bullet casing right here," John pulled it out of his pocket & handed it to Sherlock.

Sherlock held it up & turned it over in his fingertips, inspecting every inch of it. He suddenly stood up so fast, his chair when flying backwards & fell over. "He's here!"

"Who?" John & Mycroft asked at the same time.

Sherlock moaned softly as he staggered back a few steps. "He's actually here. Of course!" Mycroft & John both knew they had lost Sherlock to his mind palace. "That makes sense. Can't get his hands on the package by turning Canada upside-down so he comes here hoping to meet it before I do. Stupid stupid! How could I be so stupid?" He suddenly stepped out of the mind palace. "I have to go. Coming John?" Sherlock trotted away, knowing the man would follow like a lamb to the slaughter.

"There he goes again," John stood up to follow.

"Find out what's going on," Mycroft ordered. John nodded as he left.


	10. Chapter 10

**(10) Good Vibrations**

It was all John could do to keep up with Sherlock. They headed down the length of the mansion, through a double door & into the garages. Sherlock headed across the first garage with Mycroft's Jag & Limo, roughly shoved open another door & entered the second garage. John took a step back let the door swing through its rhythm, then past through.

Here were parked two another cars; an Aston Martin V12 Vantage that was a silver-like black & next to that, a monster.

John stared. "You seriously have one of those?"

"You like it?"

"Well, yeah!" John passed his hand over the beast.

"Watch the doors," Sherlock pressed a button hanging from his keychain. The doors swivelled … upward.

"How cool is that?" John looked like a schoolboy, grinning widely.

"Not as cool as its twin turbo flame throwers," Sherlock left the side of the Aston Martin for a moment & sat in the driver's seat of the neon-green vehicle. "Go to the back to watch. Oh & cover your ears or else you'll go deaf since the garage doors are closed."

John nodded mutely & stepped to the back. He had yet to cover his ears but Sherlock didn't wait. He turned the car on & let it scream. John was suddenly reminded about ear coverage! He clapped his hands over them seconds before two blue flames started shooting out. Glancing to the door, he noticed Sherlock sitting with his gloved hands over his ears as well as he sent him a half smile before saying something.

"WHAT?" John ran to Sherlock's side, screaming back.

"SEE THE FLAMES?"

"YES!"

Sherlock stopped the noise. He shook his head wildly. "That ought to piss off Mycroft for a week."

"We are so taking this out for a drive."

"Someday perhaps," Sherlock stepped out & the doors swivelled closed. "It does need a full tank. I've only filled the Aston Martin."

"Well hurry up about it," John snarled. "I have always wanted to drive a Lamborghini."

"We did not agree that YOU would be driving it!"

"Yes we did."

"I do not rec—"

"Shut up, Holmes!" John glared. "I will drive that Lambo Gallardo! We're agreeing on that right now." The war doctor actually stamped his foot & grunted for emphasis like an angry rabbit.

They got into the Aston Martin. They glared at each other. Sherlock looked away first to put the key in & turned it on. Another glare passed between them. "You'll die first."

John rolled his eyes. After a moment's hesitation, he asked, "Are both of these seriously your cars?"

"Yes," Sherlock pressed a button & the garage door open. "This is my garage. The other one is Mycroft's. I found the keys in my old bedroom here. Speaking of Mycroft." His mobile suddenly rang into action. John was about to protest but Sherlock put up a hand. "It doesn't matter who hears Mycroft's rant about the Lambo." John sat back, nodding.

"SHERLOCK HOLMES! DON'T DO THAT!" Mycroft's rant began. John heard every word. He also saw Sherlock's reaction. Sherlock had begun moving his mouth & making faces, mocking his brother. "You shook the whole mans—are you driving that thing? You better not be. It isn't properly fuelled."

Sherlock paused doing impressions of an angry Mycroft for barely a moment to say in a self-aggrandizing way, "I'm in the Aston Martin. Anything else, my dear brother?" He started his facial impressions once more. John had to bite down on the collar of his coat to keep from laughing.

"Don't take that tone of voice with me, little brother! Scream those twin turbo flamethrowers in the garage again, I'll SHOOT the fucking thing! Understand? And stop pulling faces at me." Click. Hang up.

Sherlock tossed his mobile away. "He actually swore."

"I heard him."

"Third time in his life."

"That pissed off, is he?"

"Mhm," Sherlock nodded. "It's best if we avoid him for a month or two."

John stared out the window on his side for a bit. His mouth twitched. Then he started laughing, forehead touching to the dashboard. Sherlock broke into a fitful of giggles not a moment later.

"We should do that in the middle of the night!" John gasped, wiping away some tears.

"Already did. Twice."

"Ah, the other times he swore like that?"

"Yep."

More laughter. The only things stopping either of them from rolling around in the seats were the seatbelts. The Aston actually swerved crookedly on the lane. Sherlock yanked it back into position. "Stop making me laugh. I can't see!" Black leather suddenly soaked up a few tears from Sherlock's cheek. He aimed the car straight again, driving well away from Mycroft's nest of fuming rage.

"Sorry," John snorted & snickered some more. He took a moment to regain some compose. "Sherlock, the Holmes family seems to be rather ... loaded. Why do you bother with a flat like 221B?"

"It's in a perfect location," Sherlock sped up as they hit the main road. "It's the center of action for whenever Lestrade needed me, which was always."

"Ok, that's understandable," John thought for a moment. "You never needed a flatmate to help with the rent then. Why did you mention to Mike that you needed one? You don't actually need me for finances."

"No, I don't."

"So why bother with a flatmate?"

"The place was big enough to have one," Sherlock said. "Plus it was a challenge to see if Mike Stamford could actually find a partner for me. That is where I needed a flatmate. Someone to actually work with since most of the police force is too irritating for me."

"Hmm, good idea then."

"Besides, it helps to keep Mycroft out of my hair."

John rolled his eyes upward. Brotherly feud again! He had a feeling that the truth was the other way around, it kept Sherlock out of Mycroft's hair. "Just like that kiss of yours," he grumbled under breath.

"I was planning to do that anyway," said Sherlock. "At Mycroft's insistence, I decided to get it over with."

John stared at him, twitching his brow first up than down into a frown. What was Sherlock going on about now? "Let me guess, an experiment?"

"No," Sherlock turned onto the next road leading into London & said no more on the subject.

John recognised the 'no-more-info' voice & changed the subject. "So, who's here, exactly?"

Before Sherlock answered, the car came to a screeching halt. John & Sherlock were tossed forward, then yanked back by the belts with the force of the brake. A black car had blocked their path. It advanced on them. Sherlock put the Aston into reverse & headed backwards. "If the Aston Martin gets a single scratch, people will get hurt."

"Oh kay," John tried to make himself non-existent. "It is a nice car."

"Very nice," Sherlock groused. "They better show some respect for a vehicle like this."

"You have the money to fix this or even get another one."

"That isn't the point," Sherlock swerved & was able to go straight again, down the road leading left. "One does not simply destroy a car such as this. It's the principle of the matter." Once in forward motion again, he floored the pedal. The black sedan did likewise & John was suddenly feeling very uneasy about being in a car driven by Sherlock in a mad car chase but there was no way out now. At least it wasn't the Lambo.

"Do you know who they are?" John asked, trying to keep his head clear.

"If what you say about my mobile is true, yes," said Sherlock, slipping into a curve. John wondered how he could make it look so easy. Sherlock suddenly turned down a smaller lane & parked the car on the side. "Get out quickly. We'll dodge through the city instead. I need to get another phone now."

John did as he was told. The black sedan sped past, screeched to a halt & backed up again. Sherlock grabbed John's hand & yanked him through a door leading into a café, followed closely by the two men from the Sedan. Nearly reaching the back door, Sherlock suddenly found himself yanked back.

"John!"

John tried to turn back but a fist connecting painfully with his face made him spin sideways & fall down.

"Where is it?" One man slammed Sherlock into the wall & held onto his coat collar with both hands.

"Well now, Mr. Arlin," Sherlock tried to push the man away. "You found a new partner this quickly?"

"When will you learn that you lost this one, Holmes?" Arlin began frisking Sherlock over. "Just hand over that mobile of yours."

"I don't have it any more."

"I'll find it," Arlin started squeezing & tugging at Sherlock's pockets. He suddenly found himself flat on the floor on top of his partner.

"When will people learn not to punch me in the face?" John remarked to Sherlock who rolled his eyes. He had once punched John in the face but ended up getting more hurt than expected afterward.

"Another bad day?"

"Seems like it."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow as he grabbed John's hand once more & ran for it. The two of them fled through the back door at last. Sherlock led them through a narrow back alley, across the road & into another building. He didn't slow down as he led John through to another door leading onto yet another street.

John felt as if they had run & ducked through several shops for nearly fifteen minutes. He knew Sherlock had his path set out probably before parking the Aston; which was good since by now, John was all lost & confused. Sherlock never once released his hand as he hauled the doctor along. Their pursuers had shown up now & then at first but John realised that they hadn't been seen in a while. They were probably still nursing wounds John himself had given them.

Sherlock suddenly stopped for breath. John banged into him & both stumbled into the wall. "Well now, we seemed to have lost them for a bit. At least the Aston's safe."

John disentangled himself from Sherlock's arms. "That's good to know." He straightened his coat. "Now what, genius?"

Sherlock glared at him. "Now, we find myself a new mo—OH!—bile." His eyes suddenly widened. He swayed slightly. "Oooh! Right. New mobile. Now!" He turned sharply on his heel & led the way into the center of a large mall.

John trotted to catch up to him. "Sherlock? What just happened to you?"

"Hmm? Mmm!" Sherlock again got a strange look in his eyes & took two steps forward then three steps back. "I wonder who the moron is that's calling me right now?" He sighed heavily, forcing one foot forward in front of the other. "This way." He pointed himself forward & forced himself in that direction.

"Calling you? I thought you said you didn't have your mobile?"

"Did I? I must have misinformed them," Sherlock nearly turned to face John but ended up slapping the wall with one gloved hand, leaning heavily on it for a moment. His lashes fluttered several times as he tried to gain control of himself. "I really need that new one now." He led the way again. Sherlock suddenly turned back, crashing into John once more. "Go back," he whispered. John saw over Sherlock's shoulder & noticed two suited men glancing into every shop as they passed, looking for something. Looking for them, John realised.

Sherlock led John down another route, trying not to sway his hips at random whenever his phone started up again. John stared at him incredulously. He tried to ask what was happening but Sherlock cast him a glare.

"What?" John managed to ask.

"For God's sake," Sherlock muttered turning away. "At least it's stopped for now."

John noticed that Sherlock was walking straight again. An idea suddenly struck him. "Sherlock, is your mobile … down your trousers?"

"Yes," Sherlock answered simply.

"You left it on vibrate before hiding it down your trousers?"

"No, my phone was off," Sherlock declared. "You must have turned it on vibration when you banged me into the wall."

John had no answer to that except a horrified expression at the double meanings of each & every word Sherlock just said. Worse, Sherlock seemed to realise it, as he flashed John a half-smile before grabbing his hand once more to pull him into the next store.

"I thought we discussed the fact that neither of us is gay?" John retorted.

"We aren't," Sherlock shrugged, glancing around. They were finally in a store where he could get a new phone. "I'll explain later. Right now, we sho—oh GOD! Who the bloody hell is calling me?" Sherlock grabbed the nearest stand of magazines & hung on until the phone stopped. John turned away, crying with laughter. "Shut up!"

"All you need is your bed sheet," John teased, earning a death glare. "Why don't we, tehehe. Ok, why don't we—stop looking at me like that. Split up? You get that phone out of your trousers while I find a new one."

With another glare, Sherlock unzipped his trousers right then & there, reached in & pulled out the damned buzzing mobile. John glanced horrified up & down the aisle but fortunately they were alone. "What? I went to Buckingham Palace in my bed sheet. How shy do you think I am?" He fixed his trousers while John buried his eyes in one hand & sighed. Sherlock then opened the mobile. "Mycroft! He's now fuming about the bedroom door. Of course." He rolled his eyes & closed it again, not bothering to answer right now.

"Here," John grabbed a mobile package from the shelf. "Let's go."

"Not an Iphone!" Sherlock snatched the package away & tossed it back in place. "I prefer Blackberry."

"Alright, this one," John made another selection, a Blackberry 9700, & headed for the cash.

"No, I don't like the color," Sherlock snatched that one away as well.

"Sherlock!" John glared. "There are men out there with guns looking for us. Take the damn mobile!"

"I want a different color," Sherlock stubbornly glanced over the rows.

John slapped himself in the forehead. "Hurry up." A minute or two went by. "Sherlock, they're getting closer." Another minute. "Sherlock?" John stepped close to the door of the shop & looked out. The two men were five doors down. "WILLIAM SCOTT! MOVE YOUR ARSE!" John gave Sherlock a little kick.

"Alright already!" Sherlock finally picked out a black Blackberry curve & stepped up to the cashier. He muttered under breath to John. "Don't call me William. I hate that name."

"Then quit shopping like a woman, no offence," John quickly smiled at the girl behind the counter. "Picking out brands & colors. Goodness me, if I hadn't have kicked you, we'd be stuck here literally for the rest of our rather short lives."

"Yes, yes," Sherlock complained. "I have one now, don't I?"

"Pray you get the chance to use it," John muttered as he headed into the hall past the entrance of the store, ready for a fight. "Hurry up, Sherlock." Sherlock finally ripped open the package & pulled out his new mobile. The girl hurriedly set up a new phone card & plan for him. "Any minute now!" John called from the door.

Sherlock rolled eyes then snatched a lollipop as well. The girl stared at him. He jerked his head in John's direction. "No problem. My best man has everything under control. He's a soldier from Afghanistan after all. I wonder if he wants one?"

There was a bang as if a gun went off & a horrific scream suddenly shattered the universe.

"Sherlock, I could really use your help right about now!"

"I thought this was a bad day for you? Don't you kill people on your bad days?"

"But it isn't a bad day at all! It's a worse one."

Sherlock handed over the candy. "I'll be right back." He headed into the main corridor to help John. He slipped out his own gun & pressed the end to the back of the head of the second man holding John down. "I don't think you want to do that."

John wriggled away & checked on the other man, Mr. Arlin, who was crumpled up on the floor clutching what was left of his privates. Sherlock didn't need to ask what happened. He noticed Arlin's gun lying on the floor near John's feet & the blood between the man's legs, spreading like a crimson pool all down the inner pant-leg of his jeans. It told Sherlock enough. He cross-rolled his eyes shut for a moment. John noticed. "What? I have bad days & worse days. Bad days are for the lucky sods who actually die."

"John, call Lestrade."

"Working on it," John said. "Ok where is that number?"

"Under L for Lestrade?"

"G for Greg, actually."

"Whatever," Sherlock thwacked the man he was holding over the head with his gun & sent him sprawling. He hid the pistol under his jacket again.

When Lestrade showed up, he took one look at Sherlock & John, then at their hostages. Lastly, he noticed just exactly how the man on the floor was injured. He looked up to the pair once more. John met his eyes but Sherlock was still glaring at the man still clutching what was left of his crotch & bawling. "I'm not even going to ask." Greg cuffed the two men & took them away, shackling the injured one to a gurney in the ambulance. "Just email me your reports later. Then we'll talk."

Sherlock & John headed back the way they had come, towards the Aston Martin. John noticed Sherlock was sucking on something. "Are you eating?"

"Just this," Sherlock showed him the candy. "You seemed to be doing fine at first. I thought I'd have time for it back then."

"You didn't get me one?"

"You didn't say you wanted one," Sherlock shrugged, starting to suckle it down once more.

"You didn't ask."

"That isn't true. I did."

"Sherlock, I was making a man shoot himself in the plums! I didn't hear you."

"Not my fault."

They rounded the corner & the Aston Martin came into sight. "Oh for God's sake!" John yanked the candy straight out of Sherlock's mouth, bit off half & gave it back.

Sherlock glared at the thing. "That was mine."

"So finish it."

Sherlock snatched back what was left of it before John could change his mind & opened the driver's side to get in. John took a moment to rub his cheek after Sherlock disappeared into the car. Biting that sucker in half hurt but he'd rather be damned then let Sherlock know that fact. He focused on the piece of candy between his lips & sat into the car. "Teeth still hurt from that bite?"

"I hate you."

"You just never learn," Sherlock put the car into gear & headed for the flat.

Once inside, Sherlock took out his old mobile first, opened it & put it on the table. He pulled out a small screwdriver from the tool drawer in the kitchen & began unscrewing the back piece. He picked up a pair of scissors next & cut two different wires.

The mobile began smoking & hissing. Sherlock knocked it to the floor, pulled out his gun & shot it three times. Catching John's eye, he half shrugged. "Just making sure," He answered John's question before he even asked, or thought of it for that matter. "By the way, how did you manage to get that man shot in the plums? Are you losing your aim?"

"No, I was pinned down by his friend," John explained. "I felt his gun on me so & grabbed it & twisted it back. I couldn't really see what I was doing, I didn't know until after. Oh well."

John expected some sort of remark from Sherlock but received only silence. He watched as Sherlock put his own gun next to John's in the drawer where they usually kept their weapons. "We need to raise this. Perhaps have a cabinet on the wall or something instead."

"What's wrong with the drawer?"

"It's too low."

"That never bothered you before."

"Well it bothers me now."

John sent another incredulous look in Sherlock's direction. "Is something wro—"

"Yes, John! The drawer is to low," Sherlock snapped. "It isn't safe."

"Safe? Sherlock, it was fine before now."

"Well things change, don't they?" Sherlock flipped himself flat on his back onto the couch & began tapping away at his new mobile for almost half an hour. Knowing he wouldn't get anything more out of Sherlock, John sat in his usual place in the armchair & was soon fast asleep. It took Sherlock three tries before John suddenly sat up awake.

"What do you want now?" John moaned, still groggy.

"It isn't even dark out," Sherlock pointed out. "I sent you an email using my new account. You have something for me remember?"

"Right," John took a few minutes to forward over Francois' attachment. He then lost Sherlock to the mind palace for nearly two hours. John made tea; went for a shower & even squeezed in another nap. All the while, Sherlock lay on the couch, his still gloved hands folded over his mobile & touching his chin with his fingertips. He seemed to be staring at the ceiling but John knew otherwise. John eventually went to bed, knowing Sherlock would come bother him when he was back in the world once more.


	11. Chapter 11

**(11) The Bond**

Late into the night, John woke up with a start. Something was very wrong with his bed. Blundering around in the dark, he managed to twist the covers so much that he could barely move. John reached around & felt a body lying beside him. "Sherlock?" He whispered hopefully.

"What?" 

"Oh thank God!" John lay back on the pillows, sighing with relief. "Don't do that! Scared me half to death, you did. What do you wa—what time is it?"

"2.35 in the morning."

"Nice," John grumbled before yawning.

"My package will be home on Sunday."

"Good to know," John tried to mean it. He really did try to mean it but he was too sleepy & grumpy from being wakened so suddenly & so early.

"You & Molly are now guardians of it, when it arrives," Sherlock went on.

John felt around between them until he found Sherlock's hand as cold smooth leather brushed against his fingers. Giving it a few pats, he muttered, "I don't even know what I'm guarding."

"You will on Sunday."

Sunday. This was currently Thursday—no wait! Friday, apparently. At least, John thought it might be. "Then this will all be over & we can go back to work like we used to." John turned his face to his right to look at where Sherlock was lying. Fully awake now, he could actually see Sherlock's outline lying beside him, in a similar position as when he was in the couch in his mind palace.

"No, John," Sherlock said. "I have unfinished business elsewhere."

"What about those kids from a few years ago? You want to close that case don't you?"

It sounded like Sherlock gasped as if he was trying to not say something, but John pushed that thought from his mind. He must have imagined that. Sherlock did take some time to answer, but answer he did. "Yes, but keeping that Canadian package safe is top priority. You & Molly must protect that."

"You will to." John didn't like where this conversation was going. "Sherlock, I know you think not telling me keeps me & others safe, but sometimes that's a sure-fire way to get someone killed. Besides, what if you need help?"

"Last time I let you help me, you were nearly blown apart."

"Yeah well, I won't make that mistake again," John assured.

Sherlock rolled over onto his side & raised himself on one hand to look down at John still lying flat on his back. John could see parts of Sherlock's face through the dull rays of light coming from a street lamp. "By keeping you & everyone out of this, I hope to ensure the safety of that package from Canada. There can be no mistakes."

"This thing of yours better be good for all the trouble you're going through," John scowled up in the half-dark at Sherlock who raised his eyes to the window & seemed to have slipped off into that mind palace of his again. Great! John suddenly felt hot & bothered once more. Lying in bed with Sherlock this close to him didn't help matters at all. At least he was off in the mind palace & wouldn't notice. John hoped Sherlock wouldn't notice. John slowly but surely drew one leg up a bit to hide any sudden bulge of heat. He put both hands under his head, lacing fingers together, to stop himself from grabbing something—Sherlock, you idiot & don't be foolish about it! There, under control right? John suddenly wondered why Sherlock's hand was around his right wrist. How long had it been there?

"Surely you can do a better job of hiding arousal than that. Leg coverage. Pulse pounding. I can actually hear your heart. You of all people should understand the human body. Honestly Watson. You call yourself a doctor?" John tried to speak up but Sherlock went on. "Not to mention how you've been trying yet failing to not stare at me since you noticed I was here. Also," He leaned forward slightly & actually sniffed at John like a puppy would at a new ball. "Your testosterone is through the roof right now. That must be quite painful for you down there, isn't it?" He gave the area in question a pat or two.

John's body involuntarily contorted at that. He cried out wildly as his eyes went wide. Sherlock had a bemused expression on his face. Damn that bastard to hell! Despite how hot the room suddenly was, John felt cold, yet hot at the same time. Sherlock had tricked him! He never did go into his mind palace this time, did he? "You did wake me up at a strange time you know."

"Oh sure, blame me," Sherlock flicked first one brow then the other at John. "Good thing I've kept a shot of morphine with me since I came from Molly's lab over a week ago."

"What?" John was about to wonder what the heck Sherlock was going on about now when he felt the man shift to lie more firmly over him. Actually that detective was lying directly on him & was quite firm indeed. "What are you do—SHERL—!" He was silenced with yet another kiss in less than a day.

"Did you enjoy that or do you want me to leave?"

"I … wha …? I …"

"Do shut up then!" Sherlock forced him to do so by kissing him again, forcing his tongue between John's lips.

"Mhm!" John sighed quickly in surprise.

Sherlock didn't release him. Instead, he increased the pressure & began sliding his hand back & forth across John's bare chest. In the nanosecond it took John to realise that Sherlock was still wearing his black leather riding gloves, his erection went from rock hard … to diamond hard. The only thing stopping his screams of lust was Sherlock's hard kiss over his mouth. The sleek cold of the leather clashed wildly with his own heat.

Sherlock suddenly broke away from John's mouth & moved to lie partly on the doctor's side. He laid his head onto his chest. He stroked upwards over John's throat & then down again to rub over one nipple.

"So much for .. for not being g—ODS! Sherlock!"

Sherlock raised his head & leaned forward to whisper in John's ear. "We're not."

"Then what is this?"

"Not now, doctor!" Sherlock kissed him again. He slid his hand downward along the dorsal line.

Realising just where Sherlock was taking that leather, John suddenly writhed under him. He felt the sleekness falter at the waistband of his pj-pants for a moment & then slip inside.

Both moaned in that instant Sherlock's gloved hand touched John. Sherlock in pain from suddenly being bitten on his bottom lip. John from nearly going over right then & there. He nearly did more than once. Sherlock starting wriggling himself downward, sliding his other hand inside. He moved his hands to John's hips, caressing & kneading the flesh a bit before pushing downward again. John felt the material slipping off. He raised his hips for a moment long enough for Sherlock to pull the pants free. They were tossed to the floor.

John finally released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding for well near a minute. He considered the situation he currently found himself in. He was lying naked. On a bed. In the dark (kind of, what with the distant street lamp). In front of Sherlock Holmes, of all people in the whole wide universe! In that moment, John felt panic creep into him. How did one actually behave sexually in front of this man? What if he did, or said, one thing wrong & Sherlock became offended & left? Worse, how to respond? Sherlock was obviously being dominant. Would something so simple as initiating a mere kiss drive him away?

Seriously, how exactly did one behave like this around him? John closed his eyes & tried to breathe slowly. Stop thinking, just stop thinking.

John sighed again, drawing in a long deep breath. He found that somehow hard. Opening his eyes, he saw Sherlock over him, hands one on each peck of John's chest for support.

Sherlock was kneeling on him, one leg tucked close to John's hips on either side. Other than that, he seemed to have stopped. "Am I hurting you too much or not enough?"

"What?"

"You seem agitated."

"I'm, uh. I'm fine. This is strange for me but I'm fine." Again with the no-breathing problem, John mentally cursed himself. This was it. Sherlock was leaving him now that he decided he wanted this all along. Wait, what did Sherlock mean 'not enough'?

Satisfied with the answer, Sherlock pushed forward, letting the slipperiness of the riding gloves caress John's skin upwards to either side of his neck. Using just the fingertips, Sherlock stroked up & down a few times & then drew his hands downward over John's shoulders. He traced the old scar of the shot-wound with his fingertips & then kissed it softly, feather light. He moved his hands down onto John's chest, pausing a moment to tease the nipples. He shifted downward, pulling his hands along John's body, adding a kiss here & there on his way down. He could feel John's sides heaving faster with each breath. Sherlock leaned forward slightly so the dim ray of the streetlamp caught his face. He smiled softly, quickly once he had captured John's attention, then shifted down even further. His hands again rested on John's hips & then ...

Then John's breath caught in his throat as he arched his back off the mattress when he felt those leather-gloved hands grab his cock. One hand stroked him while the other squeezed & pinched at his flesh, moving downward to torment the sensitive areas on his inner thighs.

John turned his face sideways & bit into the pillow. He hoped Sherlock wouldn't mind but he simply lost all control of his body. It twitched & contorted under Sherlock's care & it was all John could do to not let out a cry in ecstasy. He bit down harder, but still, sobbing moans hitched in his throat & then escaped him. He was instantly rewarded with a kiss first to the tip of his cock & then his abdomen.

Sherlock continued to stroke him, keeping him on edge but stopping occasionally, just enough to prevent John from going over. Despite the obvious painful pleasure he was in, John suddenly found himself in his own mind palace. He opened his eyes & released the pillow from his jaws. He watched Sherlock in the dimness, wondering just how that man knew what to do. It hit him like a ton of bricks. Sherlock ...was not virgin.

"Oh God!" John moaned, not from pleasure though thankfully Sherlock thought so, but from surprise. Who had it then? Not that he was jealous. Of course not. Was he?

Sherlock smiled soft & faint & then suddenly lifted himself from John & got off the bed. John sat up, watching his friend in confusion for a moment. Had he somehow offended him anyway? Then he noticed Sherlock laying aside his shirt, gloves & everything else. "Why wasn't I using a bed sheet tonight? It would have been so much simpler."

Forgetting to watch, John laughed at him in spite of himself & lay back staring at the ceiling. Next moment, the bed moved as Sherlock lay on it once more. John's mind barely had time to register that Sherlock was completely undressed, very aroused & coming for him. Sherlock moved on top of John & pinned him under like a panther holding prey. He pressed down hard with his hips, crushing their heat together in a furious passion. He began thrusting against John in short quick movements, earning a sudden gasp.

"Sher …mmm Sherlock!" John called out between gasps. He worked his hips against Sherlock's movements, yelping out each time they ground together, which was very nearly every time.

Sherlock leaned forward to whisper in John's ear, "If you want me inside you, just wrap your legs around my waist. We don't have to go that far if you don't want to."

John huffed. Hang on, Sherlock had just given him some control? John eyed Sherlock for any hint of offence or approval. Sherlock seemed to be merely waiting for an answer. John felt himself relax a little. They had come this far, no pun intended, no way was he backing out now. He pulled Sherlock more firmly on him, even wrapping his arms around the taller man's neck. "You're not getting away."

"As you wish." Sherlock licked the fingers of his right hand & reached down between them for a moment.

John knew Sherlock's size. He had seen the man naked often enough yet he was still quite shocked at the sudden thrust lower than what they had been doing. "Oh god! Oh, kay!" John called out through gritted teeth, raising his head from the pillow to bite into the other man's shoulder. Sherlock waited a moment, allowing John to get used to him & then pressed in completely.

Feelings of panic & worry gave way at last to a heated frenzy. John arched his back again as Sherlock moved one hand between them to stroke John once more. Sherlock's few thrusts were long & powerful. He began squeezing & pinching at John erection, using his now free fingernails to torture him. Sherlock suddenly held on tightly & sealed John's mouth with his own. He pressed down firm & steady. John could feel a scream of relief well up in his throat but couldn't let it out since Sherlock was still kissing him. In desperation, he suddenly grabbed the headboard above both their heads & pulled so hard that he lifted himself, with Sherlock on top of him, up a bit. His body finally seized up as he felt himself go over. Without air or a chance to gasp out his relief coupled with not only Sherlock's firm grip on him but also his constant & increasing pressure into him, John's release felt as if it happened in slow motion. It was the longest climax he had ever experienced.

Of their own accord, John felt his jaws suddenly snap on Sherlock's lips. He jerked away in surprise & John let out a long deep cry between gritted teeth. He finally went limp & fell back to the bed, heaving breaths so fast it pained both his sides. The headboard thudded dully against the wall.

Sherlock relaxed for a moment before bearing down once more. He took John's hands in his own, laying their upper arms together with John's face between their hands. Sherlock stared down at John, as he entwined their fingers together in a tight clasp. Their chests touched with each breath. Sherlock had yet to relax from that thrust; instead, he continued to press down. Sherlock ground his teeth together. John suddenly realised that this man was climaxing. Hard! With his eyes still open! He had never seen that before. Neither had he thought Sherlock would actually bother to take himself that far.

Sherlock let out a long shuddering gasp & finally relaxed, lying over John. He slid his hands down John's sides & rested them on the doctor's hips.

"Wow," John breathed after a few moments in silence. "If anyone told me we'd do this when we first met, I'd never have believed them."

"Mycroft did."

"What?"

"The day you first met him, he asked you if everyone should expect a happy announcement by the end of the week."

"How the hell do you know that?"

"He told me," Sherlock crossed his hands over John's chest & rested his chin on them so he could look into John's face. "He said he was teasing you, trying to make you uncomfortable, trying to gauge your reaction."

"Can I kill him? Please?"

"Eh, if you want," Sherlock half-shrugged. "You have to admit, he was right though, wasn't he?" John felt both their bodies move with Sherlock's sudden heavy sigh. It sounded tired. In fact, Sherlock looked exhausted. If John had been with anyone else, he'd understand that, but this was Sherlock Holmes he was with, a man who could go for a week without sleep.

"Are you alright?"

"Hmm," Sherlock sighed again. "I will be. I just need to get to my coat." He finally pushed himself away & got out of bed. He turned the light on, ignoring a yelp of protest from John. "There it is." Feeling around, in the pockets, he pulled out a small case inside which was a syringe. John didn't have to ask what that was. Sherlock pumped the full shot of morphine into his arm.

"What's wrong?"

"This is one of two reasons why I rarely engage in sex," Sherlock put the empty syringe aside & turned the light off. "My climaxes are too strong. The crash after those highs gives me migraines." He took a few steps to the bed. "Oh, dear Mummy! My head. My head!" He lay down flat on his back, putting one hand to his forehead.

John bit his lip to stop himself from laughing.

Sherlock glared at him. He clasped both hands over his own chest. "We can't do this again until I get more morphine for," He stroked his pounding forehead with his right middle & forefinger for a moment. "… this."

"Ok," John stifled another laugh. "I have a better idea than morphine though."

"Oh really?" Sherlock derided. "What might that be?"

"You shouldn't use morphine like that," John said. "You could get addicted. To cure your headaches simply have sex more. Get your body used to it."

Sherlock grumbled incoherently. "Oh, come here." He grabbed John & manoeuvred him into position. John soon found himself lying cuddled up next to Sherlock, his head on Sherlock's chest. "Shut up."

"What's the other reason you don't, how'd you put it? Engage in sex often?"

"Later John. My headache, remember?"

"Oh right, sorry."

"Did I or did I not tell you to be quiet?" Sherlock retorted.

"No, you didn't actually," John was still snickering. "You told me to shut up. Big difference." Sherlock gave John's shoulder a squeeze, digging his nails in. "Ow!" John slapped the fingers away.


	12. Chapter 12

**(12) Secrets Laid Bare**

When John opened his eyes, the daylight was pouring in from a late morning sun. He sighed & stretched a little, feeling a body lying next to him. Glancing sideways, he noticed Sherlock was lying nearby, actually sleeping. John frowned a moment & then his eyes went wide as he woke up completely. "No." John lifted his part of the blanket, looked down & then dropped it. "Oh God no." He lifted Sherlock's side a bit & after a quick check, he let that drop. "Oh wow!" He breathed, smiling in amazement. "Wow," John whispered again. He looked at Sherlock again, suddenly feeling quite content. Sherlock slept on, probably knocked out by all that morphine he had pumped into his veins a few short hours before.

John lay there for a few minutes, watching Sherlock's chest rise & fall with each breath. He still couldn't believe what had transpired that night. After watching Sherlock a moment longer, John slipped out of bed. He picked up his navy blue bathrobe lying over the chair to put on & stepped out of the bedroom. Once the door closed behind him, John sagged against the wall. He caught his breath & then stepped into the washroom & looked himself in the mirror. "What just happened?" He asked his reflection. "Did you actually just have sex with Sherlock Holmes last night? Huh, I suppose I did."

John checked inside his bedroom on his way to the kitchen to make tea. Sherlock was still knocked out. Once John had poured himself some tea & set the kettle aside, he stared out the window, thinking.

'_That package in Canada means more to me than my life.'_

'_This is my daughter, Clarisse.'_

_A dark-colored material was stuck in the rosebushes._

'_He needs a new phone. Here are the new codes. Don't open the attachment. Just send it to his new phone.'_

_Francois held up his own phone._

'_New codes.'_

'_Run! John run.'_

'_The Canadian package is top priority. It must be protected.'_

_Sherlock was sitting in the lab with Molly that day. At the time, he thought he had lost track of the package & the look of utter loss was not one to be forgotten._

John raised the cup for a sip, froze a moment & then all but banged it onto the windowsill. "Oh no. No!" John rubbed his temples with the fingertips of both hands. "No no no no no! No!" He gasped weakly. "No, no. Absolutely not. Just no." He staggered backwards until the door to his bedroom came into sight. "My God, man. No wonder you're so defensive." The hairs on his neck stood up again now that he realised just exactly what he was dealing with. It wasn't just Sherlock Holmes he had to contend with, but a deep ancient, primal instinct that could make one dangerous. His eyes then landed on the drawer where the guns lay. "Oh my … no wonder you want that changed."

John had just discovered what Sherlock's Canadian package was. He knew what it was. In fact, he knew EXACTLY what it was! Should he tell him that he knew? No, Sherlock wouldn't approve. But it didn't matter as that man would probably figure it out anyway. John flopped down into the armchair. "What the hell did you do these past three years?" He sat back, his mind racing. Suddenly, he gasped & leaned forward so that his head was nearly between his knees as more memories flooded him.

_The night Sherlock Holmes returned home, he had been hurt._

_Four men had attacked him._

'_Message received,' Sherlock gestured to his wounds._

_Greg didn't cause that bruise on Sherlock's shin._

_Four men had also nearly killed Mycroft, yet Sherlock seemed to know them all. Three were caught, well two since one was dead. One escaped only to find them again later._

_That was the man I shot the plums off of!_

_Sherlock never stopped glaring at him. Neither did he make any more comments on it at home after asking how that happened._

'_Any idea what happened?' Mycroft asked._

'_Just one.'_

Just one. He didn't want to believe it & had pushed the thought from his mind until now. Rubbing his face with both hands, John cried softly to himself, rocking back & forth a few times in the armchair. "Oh no, please not that. Please no." He took a moment to steady his breath & then glanced to that door again.

After a slight hesitation, John shot from his place & grabbed his medical bag from behind the couch. It was a large thing, having just about everything needed in it. Rummaging around, John soon found what he wanted. He quietly entered his bedroom. Sherlock was still out cold. John stepped quickly but silently up to the side of the bed & looked down on his friend. "Forgive me Sherlock, but I must know for sure." He jabbed the syringe into Sherlock's arm. John watched as Sherlock moaned a little but fell right back asleep again. "That'll knock you out for a few more hours." John tossed the empty syringe onto the little night table & pulled off the blanket. "You're already undressed. Perfect time for a thorough examination."

John spent nearly an hour on Sherlock, checking him over, re-doing the bandages as needed over still-healing wounds. Finally satisfied with himself, he re-covered Sherlock & left. John positioned himself to watch that door.

It wasn't until early afternoon when Sherlock finally stumbled out, wearing his favourite, a random white bed sheet & nothing else. He stood in the doorway of the bedroom, hands on hips as the sheet cascaded around his sides until it landed on his wrists, retuning John's gaze with a glare. "I over-slept!" He complained. "I was sure I calculated the morphine dosage right. I did. You may have worn me out more than I thought." He glanced to the kitchen. "You put on the tea & didn't even wake me? Is that how you treat someone after a sexual encounter?" Holding his sheet tightly to his body, he started for the unfortunate teakettle.

"I know what your package is."

Sherlock paused to look back at John. "Well, I certainly hope so. After all, you've been rubbing & banging against it all night long." He headed for the tea once more.

John could only stare in amazement. How could that man say something like that with a straight face? "Not that one! The Canadian one."

Yet another of Sherlock's precious China cups crashed to the floor. John braced himself, knowing what was coming. Sherlock stood straight, taking a few steps backwards before turning back. John's heart actually stopped. Sherlock had 'the Moriarty glare' in his eyes but this time, it was meant for John Watson.

Breathe. Breathe! John tried to remind himself that he was expecting that particular look. He stood up. Sherlock took a few steps towards him but John held his ground. "How—how dare y—how?"

"I have my moments in grand deductions like you," said John. "I know what it is."

"Tell me."

"Sherlock."

"TELL ME!"

"Fine but not like this," John took a few steps closer. "Walls can have ears."

Sherlock nodded & allowed John to lean in to whisper. In a flash, Sherlock had John by the wrist & twisted.

John cried out, falling to his knees under Sherlock's grip. "So I'm right then? I am right, aren't I?"

"Yes," Sherlock let go.

John scooted away & stood up, one hand inside his robe. Sherlock was still glaring at him with that same look. John withdrew his hand, gun firmly held. "I won't shoot to kill you. I'd rather die than kill you. But I am a doctor. Use your imagination. Until you calm down, you leave me no other choice."

Mrs. Hudson had just come to the door & overheard. She frowned & opened the door to a most unusual sight. Sherlock & John stood facing each other, John holding his gun with both hands & aiming for Sherlock. The looks on both their faces told her enough. Neither of them was playing this time. Mrs. Hudson moved away slowly until she reached the top stair. Despite her hip, she managed to hurry down them faster than she had for a while & entered her flat. "Goodness me, what are those boys doing up there?"

Sherlock let out a breath, set his jaw & slowly stalked around John like a panther, keeping his unblinking glare on the soldier as if sizing him up. He finally made it to the couch but didn't sit down. "What are you planning to do about it? How could you know?"

"I plan to do as we've been doing," John said, still aiming his gun. "I'll help you get it back. As to figuring it out, well several things. My God!" He suddenly realised something else. "I actually saw that package of yours. I was so close to it."

"You did?"

"I saw you there in Quebec."

"I wasn't there."

"You were in a way, weren't you?" John half-smiled to himself.

Sherlock stared at the floor for a moment, calculating his next move. If John had figured it out, who's to say anyone can? At least it was John and not someone untrustworthy. He looked up at his friend again, his eyes more softened but still apprehensive. "You can put the gun down, John. I was merely …I was not prepared."

"No," John tried to say but his voice broke. "I must hurt you further." Sherlock braced himself, hardening his gaze once more. "I know what happened to you the night you came back. You didn't over sleep. I … I drugged you."

"Why would you do that?"

"I told you someday I'd find out what happened," John reminded him. "I gave you a thorough examination while you were lying there. Sherlock, those wounds that were attended to are still visible. Some are bite marks. Other bruises are still showing, even now."

"Your point, Watson?"

John held his gun in one hand & wiped tears from his face with the other before saying, "You were gang raped by four men that night, weren't you?"

Sherlock looked away. "So what if I was? There's nothing anyone can do about it. It happened. It's over. Move on."

John actually laughed mirthlessly. "James was so wrong about the Holmes brothers. Didn't he call Mycroft the Iceman and you the Virgin? But that isn't right, is it? You're the Iceman & you certainly aren't a Virgin." Sherlock continued to stare at some interesting point in the kitchen. "Look at me!" John ordered. Sherlock grumbled under breath but didn't listen. "Damn you! Sherlock, it's ok to show some sort of emotion for something like that. Why didn't you come to me right away?"

"And why should I?" Sherlock finally looked at him. "Unless you're the Timelord from Dr. Who & can go back in time, what can you do? John really, what can you do? As I said, it happened & it's over now. End of story. Besides, coming after me distracted them from Canada for a bit. Now for God's sake!" Sherlock actually sounded more like Mycroft by now. He lowered his voice to normal again. "Put down that gun."

"No one is that strong, Sherlock," John edged closer to him. "I know you're hurting. I can see it in your eyes. Especially back at the shop. You were glaring at that man I castrated & didn't really talk about him here. Now I know why. He's one of those four, isn't he?"

"John."

John moved closer, releasing the gun's aim at last by holding up both his hands. "You really should have told me that night you came home."

"John …"

John reached out & put a hand on Sherlock's chest. "It's ok, old friend. Come here, please!" He put one arm around Sherlock's waist & leaned into him. He felt more than heard a soft cry. Sherlock held John around his shoulders & rested his chin on one of them. They stood like that in silence for several minutes. Sherlock had made no other sound. John knew that the one cry that happened was all he would hear. He pushed Sherlock down until he was sitting on the couch. John sat down beside him & laid the gun aside on the stand nearby. "Sherlock, about your Canadian package. I get why you're behaving the way you are about it. I really do. You're dealing with something foreign to you that comes second-nature to the rest of us. You're acting on pure instinct."

"I must keep that Canadian package safe."

"I know," John whispered. "I have three questions for you."

"Oh really? What are they?"

"What sort of man are you, that you'd literally throw yourself from a building to protect others?"

"I do what I must. Nothing less. Next question."

John gritted his teeth for a moment. "What kind of person allows a gang to rape them just to keep safe a most precious package?"

"Again, whatever is needed, I'll do it. Third question?"

"The real answer to both those questions, is that you are a hero. Like it or not you are."

Sherlock ignored him. "Third question?"

John sighed, knowing that's all he'd get from the man. "No, I'll wait for Sunday."

"Ask it now."

"No, I can wait," John sighed before going on. "Let me help you. Who is it you're trying to keep Canada away from?"

Sherlock stared at him. "Is that your third question?"

"No."

"I don't think it's wise to say anymore."

"Sherlock, let me help you," John was no longer taking 'no' for an answer.

Sherlock leaned forward to rest his chin on fingertips of folded hands. Mind palace. Damn it. John sighed heavily & leaned against the back of the couch. He watched Sherlock, noticing that the sheet was now pooled around his hips, exposing his back & broad shoulder blades. John sighed again, for a very different reason. He rolled his eyes at himself. Now was certainly not the time for that.

Sherlock lay against the back of the couch as well & look John in the eye. He then slid his right hand around John's neck & pulled him close until their foreheads touched. After a moment, he moved aside to whisper in John's ear. He spoke of many things, John's eyes growing wider every moment. When Sherlock was finished, he moved away from him.

John pushed himself off the couch until he was standing. "You dared to keep something like that from me?"

"I'm trying to keep you safe," Sherlock defended. "After what happened the last time."

John closed his eyes. Sherlock had all but destroyed him. "You don't keep things like that from me, Holmes. You just don't. Never do that again or I'll be the main problem in your life. Is that understood? Well is it?"

"Yes, sir." Sherlock didn't rightly care. At least, he acted like he didn't but John wasn't fooled.

"So that's what you meant then," John suddenly went on. "About us not being gay."

Sherlock looked up at him, rather confused. "What does that have to do with sex?"

"We're not gay," John retorted. "You were just saying good bye, weren't you? Last night, was goodbye."

"What?"

"Now that I know what your unfinished business is," John explained. "I get it. You're going off to get killed. Again. Possibly for real this time."

Sherlock stood up, sheet cascading to the floor around his feet. "I have every intention of coming back, John."

John didn't even notice the fallen sheet. "Then why did you make Molly & I the sole owners of that package of yours?"

"Merely a precaution," Sherlock said, stepping forward & taking John's face in his hands. He kissed his lips quickly. "John, I have every intention of coming back. We're not gay & it wasn't goodbye."

"Then what the hell was last night?"

It was Sherlock's turn to stare in disbelief. "John, you're a bi-curious heterosexual. I've seen you looking at me in yearning more than once. You like girls, yes. But you do have some curiosity for men but don't just go looking for it. You wish to have a man you know well to satisfy that curiosity." Sherlock stopped as John looked him up & down but didn't answer. "That would be me." He said pointedly.

"Right," John frowned a bit. "So, you're the gay one then?"

"No."

"Ok."

"I'm a biromantic demisexual."

"You're a what?"

"Biromantic demisexual."

"What does that mean?"

"What do you think it means?" Sherlock said, exasperated.

"Well, uh, bi. You like both. You mean bisexual?"

"Mummy have mercy!" Sherlock muttered to himself as he dropped his face into his palms for a moment, then ran both hands back through his hair. "NO!" He paused before going on. "Bisexuality is different. They can have anyone, anytime. Even capable of having one-night stands with strangers & can be quite active. I can't do that. I don't have the time or care about it either. Biromantic means that I can have either a man or a woman for a partner. Demisexual means I am perfectly capable of sex, but don't need it often & it must be with someone I know well. That would be you. The second reason I don't bother with sex that much. Understand now?"

"Uh, I think I'll google that one later," John stammered. "It might help if I actually read those words."

"Go right ahead," Sherlock waved one hand towards the coffee table where John's laptop lay.

John looked back & forth between the laptop & Sherlock. "Now?"

"Why not?" Sherlock picked up his sheet & tossed it over one shoulder. "I need to find a new China set no thanks to you. Excuse me." He headed for the kitchen & started to pick up the broken cup.

Sherlock returned to the living room, carrying a mug of tea this time. He had his sheet twisted around his body & even had a sort of knot put it to hold it in place so his hands were free.

John closed his laptop. "Well that was a strange, interesting read." Sherlock merely grunted in annoyance. "So, uh, what happens now?"

"What happens now?" Sherlock echoed.

"Well, you know. After last night."

Thoroughly befuddled, Sherlock looked at the window then back at John. "The day happens?"

"I mean us, you idiot!" John got up & crossed the distance of the room to stand before Sherlock. He kneeled down on the floor in front of him. "You're obviously a Dominant one."

"No, I'm not," Sherlock cut in. "That was merely because you were being stupid & not realising your attraction for me. If I waited for you to initiate, last night would never happen at all. I actually prefer a position other than the top. I'm not good for the top."

"You're not g—Sherlock! That was the best sex of my life!" John laughed. "You were excellent."

"Uh, thank you."

"Are you blushing?"

"No."

"Your face is coloring a bit."

"It's merely warm in here."

"I bet it is."

"I prefer the bottom, Watson!" Sherlock retorted. "You may initiate whatever you want when you want. Just don't do it often & don't be boring." He took a long sip of his tea.

"Fantastic!" John shook his head. "How can sex be boring anyway?"

"When it's done 24/7 & using the same old routine," Sherlock muttered. "It can become quite boring. Irene Adler caught my attention for a number of reasons. Use your imagination."

"Holy shit!" John stood up & began pacing. "This is really happening isn't it?"

"What? What's the matter with you?"

"Sex with you will be dangerous, won't it?"

"You like dangerous. Hence why you've been with me all this time."

"You have a riding crop."

"I do."

"Not always used on Bach, is it?"

"Nope." Another sip of tea.

John stopped pacing & rubbed his face with one hand. Sherlock was sitting there with a straight face, fingertips laced together around his mug of tea, as if he was having a normal conversation. In contrast, John was hot, hard & excited in more ways than one; grinning so much his cheeks hurt, besides being confused & shocked all at the same time. Sherlock was right. It was hot in here! John headed for the door & opened it. Usually it was cooler in the stairwell.

Below, Greg & Mrs. Hudson were talking in low tones. They stopped & looked up, almost guiltily.

"What's going on?" John asked slowly.

Greg shared a glance with Mrs Hudson before answering. "She called me. What is happening with you & Sherlock?"

John met Mrs. Hudson eye. She had seen them. How much had she heard? "We're fine."

"John recently discovered he can ha—"

"SHERLOCK!" John yelped.

"Well you did," Sherlock came to the door of the flat & looked down the stairs. "Anything else? No? Lestrade. Mrs Hudson. Would either of you like some tea?"

"I WILL shoot you Holmes if you don't shut up!"

"Go right ahead. I've sustained quite a few injuries. What's another one?" came the usual flat voice.

John shook his head. He wrapped his bathrobe more firmly around himself & headed downstairs. "Why are you here?"

"Mrs. Hudson saw you & Sherlock having a fight at gunpoint."

"What? Oh that!" John waved a hand. "It's nothing, Greg. We're ok."

"You two are getting dangerous," Greg warned, not pleased at all.

"Greg, we're fine," John insisted.

"John?" Sherlock called from the inside the flat once more. "If he's come to explain the solar system again, make him go away."

"Unbelievable," John tossed his head back, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. "Outside. Let's go." He herded Greg out the door, snatching a coat Mrs. Hudson handed him to cover over his robe a bit more modestly.

Greg got into his cruiser, rolled down the window & beckoned John to come closer. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"What happened?"

John smiled. "Oh I just discovered what his package is. He wasn't happy but we're ok now."

"You did? What is it?"

"I won't do that. Greg, you know I won't," said John. "Just wait until Sunday."

"Sunday?"

"Yes."

"If its something dangerous to the country, would you tell me?"

"Of course!" John said hurriedly. "But it isn't. Oh Greg. It's quite amazing really." He sighed giddy-like as he leaned his face on one hand, elbow on the window frame of the car.

Greg furrowed his brow a moment. John wasn't really looking at him. His eyes were actually shining. "John?" No answer. "Ok I know what happened."

"What? How?" John suddenly paid attention to Lestrade. "Sherlock won't like this. Everyone knowing about his package."

"Yeah, John? We're not talking about the same package here," Greg said.

"We're not?"

"You two had sex last night, didn't you?"

John glared. "So what if we did?"

"So I'll see you on Sunday then," Greg said brightly, ignoring John's furious red flush, before becoming serious again. "I better not get another call like this, John. I can't have you & Sherlock against each other."

"We're not."

"So it would seem," Greg said. "So you're the lucky one who got that man's virginity at last?"

"Oh no, that wasn't me," John shrugged. "There's still stuff about that man I don't know."

"I understand that," Greg nodded. "I've known him for years, yet I don't know him at all at times." He started the car. "Tell Sherlock that I said the Earth goes around the sun."

"I do that & you will get another call like what just happened."

Greg thought about that, then nodded in agreement. "Oh by the way," he handed John a large yellow envelope. "I came into my office this morning with that on the table. No one knows who left it there. The cameras don't show anything so they've been tampered with."

John took the envelope & held it down to his side in one hand. "Sherlock isn't taking cases right now. He'll look at this after Sunday."

"He'll look at it right now," Greg insisted. "It isn't a case. Probably Mycroft's doing which would explain the cameras. It's all of Sherlock's papers. He's been reinstated as being alive again."

"Alright, I'll give it to him," said John. "Is this it for now?"

"After Sunday, I do need to speak with Sherlock about an old case," Greg began. "About three years old."

"I know the one."

"I know you do," said Greg before driving away.


	13. Chapter 13

**(13) Who Are You?**

John returned to the flat, pausing a moment at the bottom of the stairs to put a hand on Mrs. Hudson's shoulder & gave back the coat. He went up & found Sherlock sitting stretched out on the couch, twisted up in his sheet. He handed over the envelope. "Well it's official. You're alive again. Mycroft did this last night I guess."

Sherlock pulled out the papers & looked them over. "This isn't Mycroft. Certainly not his penmanship."

John took a few papers. "Sherlock, there's a picture wherever a signature is supposed to be." He handed one paper over with the picture on it of a round corral next to a farmhouse.

Sherlock lay them aside & sat straight. "I've seen those once before."

"Good or bad?"

"I don't know," Sherlock admitted. "It spared my life & kept my package safe but someone did die. John, everything went so wrong after I saw that the first time in America."

"Not Canada?"

"Canada is now," said Sherlock. "I was lying low these past three years. You can't expect me to stay in one place all the time, can you?"

John raised his brow for a moment. "True that. So what do you think this means now?"

Sherlock passed his hands back over his face until they covered his ears & he was able to interlock his fingertips in his hair behind his head. "Everything from the Americas follows me here no matter what I do."

John sat down next to Sherlock, recognising a cry for help. He also understood Sherlock's need for a distraction. He put his hands on the other man's shoulders & began working a massage. "Well, I guess you're not as alive after all. Not officially."

"Why not?"

"Signing papers with pictures & not a name?" John pointed out.

Sherlock lifted his head, flexing one shoulder blade at a time as John's hands passed over them. His eyes fell to the papers again. "They look official, apart from that." He reached for his new mobile lying on the sofa-cushion to his right & began taking a few pictures of the papers. Then he sat back, ending the massage. "I sent them to Mycroft. He'll get my new number with that as well."

"I told you to tell him a long time ago," John stood up & strode across the room. "Now we can use him." Sherlock merely scoffed. John took something off the mantle & walked back. He handed over a cigarette. "Just one."

Sherlock eyed the thing like a hawk eying a mouse. "It better not be low-tar. Mycroft always gives me those crappy ones I don't need." He took it & John lit it then sat down in the armchair across from Sherlock. He soon wished he hadn't. "Ah yes. This is a good one." Sherlock lay his head over the back edge of the couch & watched the ceiling a moment before closing his eyes. He took another draught of the cigarette.

John felt his throat go dry. Sherlock was lying back in nothing but a sheet (from the waist down no less) & smoking a cigarette. He had kept his eyes closed & John knew he had gone off into his mind palace again. John felt the temperature in the room rise about a hundred degrees or so as images of last night suddenly surfaced. "Hmm," John sighed, standing up quickly. "I think I'll go have a shower while you finish that. " A really REALLY ice cold one at that!

Sherlock's eyes were instantly upon him. John took a few steps away towards the washroom, trying not to notice. "God's sake, Doctor! Come here."

John groaned inwardly. Casual as he could, he turned, looked that man in the eye & asked, "Was there something else?"

Sherlock didn't bother with the eyes but looked downward. "You're the one with a problem. You tell me?" He took another puff, still staring downward at a very uncomfortable point on John's physique.

"I don't have ...Sherlock."

Sherlock actually snapped his fingers before pointing beside him. "Sit down." John set his teeth together & did so. They sat side-by-side, John looking anywhere but at Sherlock. "Well?" Sherlock finally demanded.

"Well what?"

Sherlock put his cigarette out in the little ashtray on the small side table. "And people call me the idiot." He grabbed John around the neck & lay back, forcing John on top of him. "Remember, we have no morphine at the moment, so only take care of yourself."

"Sherlock what?"

"Migraines, John." Sherlock put a hand behind John's head & pulled him down for a kiss. He shifted so that John's body sunk in between his own & the back of the couch. With the doctor trapped, he pushed back the robe & passed his hand along John's side, heading downward.

John moaned softly as he felt that hand move down until it started stroking him. Sherlock kissed him again & held the kiss as he alternated between stroking John & using his nails to tease his inner thighs.

"Oh gods!" John gasped. Instinctively he began caressing Sherlock, sliding down as well.

"Migraines."

"Sorry." John rubbed Sherlock's chest instead. He lifted his head as best he could & bit into Sherlock's shoulder as he felt himself nearing the edge. He planted a few kisses from the shoulder to the neck. He suckled & nipped at the flesh for a few moments before suddenly biting down completely. John growled as Sherlock began squeezing gently while stroking him & he finally went over. He let go Sherlock's neck & lay his cheek on his. "You sure you don't need any attention right now?" John offered.

"Not without that morphine," Sherlock stubbornly reminded him. "Besides, after last night, I'm fine for a few months."

John smiled a moment before saying, "Well, I definitely need a shower after that."

"Yes," said Sherlock. "As do I."

John raised his head & upper body on one hand, using Sherlock's side as support. It only succeeded in wedging himself more firmly between Sherlock & the back of the couch. Oh well. John stared into Sherlock's eyes, then glanced to the door of the washroom.

Next instant, the two of them were scuffling & tripping over bed sheets & bath robes trying to get not only off the couch (which was easily achieved by landing rather hard on the floor) but also to be the first into the shower. Both finally managed to stand, Sherlock kicking his bed sheet aside. This gave John the opportunity to start for the door. Sherlock made to follow but his mobile went off.

"HA!" John turned & pointed at it triumphantly. "I bet that's Mycroft. Have fun." With that, he scooted for the washroom & closed the door, still laughing.

"What? Do? You? Want?" Sherlock ground out.

"Did I call at a bad time?" Mycroft asked meekly.

Sherlock closed his eyes & sighed. "No. What do you want?"

"The papers," Mycroft tried again. "You sent me pictures?"

"Right. Go on?"

"They're official enough," Mycroft went on "The pict—"

"Hold on. What is it Mrs. Hudson?"

"I heard a loud bang & AHHHH!" Mrs. Hudson disappeared. Sherlock could hear her hurrying down the stairs.

"What?" Sherlock blinked then looked down at himself. "Oh." He was completely naked since he had kicked the sheet aside. "Whatever. Mycroft? Continue?"

"I can call back later you know."

"CONTINUE!"

"Alright," Mycroft tried again.

John poked his face out the door. "Sherlock, what was that?"

"Nothing, go away!"

John wisely retreated into the tub once more as Mycroft finally managed to continue. "The pictures aren't pictures."

"Make sense please."

"Is John around?"

"He's in the shower."

"Good, borrow his laptop & go into the Word program."

Sherlock laid Mycroft aside & opened the laptop. "New password. Now what? Hmm," He thought a moment & then tapped in the name of John's therapist, when he used one. It didn't work. He tried a few other names of random girlfriends. Nothing worked. "Well, well John. Have you finally come up with a better password?" He paused a moment & then tried again. He entered the name & type of his Lambo. Judging by John's reaction to that thing, it must have been a fantasy of his for a while. After several variations of that car, the laptop still remained shut. Sherlock snarled to himself. This was proving rather interesting, yet frustrating. "Now he decides to not be boring." He looked sideways at his mobile with Mycroft waiting patiently, for once. On the table next to it, was John's watch, still stopped at a certain date & time. "Oh John, really?" Sherlock moaned, suddenly not as impressed. He entered the date & time of his death-defying jump then picked up his mobile. "I'm in. Now what?"

"Set the font to Webdings."

"Done," Sherlock said after a moment.

"Capital S & H."

Sherlock did so & the picture showed up. "S.H. It's a code for S.H.?"

"Yes," Mycroft said gravely. Sherlock sat back in the armchair. Something was definitely wrong with his brother. "Sherlock, did you write these papers up yourself?"

"No, of course not," Sherlock said. "I don't have time for that right now as you know."

"I had to ask just to be sure," said Mycroft.

"Mycroft, what does that picture mean?"

"Sherlock, there's a reason why I was upset with you for the trickery & for not coming home to me right away," Mycroft said. "When we lost you, I thought I had lost everything."

"No one lost me. I'm fine. Now what do these pictures mean?"

Cold as ever. Mycroft actually lowered his phone to take a shuddering breath. "James Moriarty, you were so wrong about him. He's the Iceman, not me." He shook his head & put the phone to his ear again. "Sherlock, it's fine. These papers are quite official. I've looked them over & had them checked. You are officially back in the world of the living." He hung up.

"Mycro—My. Hello?" Sherlock lowered his own phone. He cast a worried glance to the closed washroom door.

"Hey Sherlock, what are you doing?" John spun around in surprise, dressed in nothing but soapsuds & hot water running down his chest. Sherlock had just stepped into the shower next to him, silent as a ghost.

"Mycroft knows something," Sherlock took the showerhead, wetted his hair & handed it back to John. "Those pictures, the corral is an S & the house is an H. It's Webdings, a font style from Microsoft Word. Yet still, the papers are official according to Mycroft."

"Someone made up those documents, using your own initials in a childish code as a signature & it was approved?" John asked. "How?"

"Good question," said Sherlock, working soap through his hair, then over his body. "I'd suggest asking Mycroft but he evades answering me."

"What happened the first time you saw those symbols?" John handed over the showerhead once more.

Sherlock rinsed off, seemed to take his time with it, before answering. "It was a note telling me to run from the house or die. I jumped on Bach & rode away. Everything blew up a few seconds later."

"Wait, someone bombed your house, but had the courtesy to warn you first?"

"I don't think it was the same person. I know who bombed the house," Sherlock reached for the towels hanging on hooks just beyond the bath's edge. "I did."

"YOU did?" 

"Better that than to have information about me fall into the wrong hands," Sherlock said, stepping out. John was soon to follow. "I moved around often these past three years, partly to go after the killers for you & the others & partly to stay off the grid. When I moved, I either took everything with me, or destroyed it."

"Alright, I'm really confused. Why would someone warn you about it when you were the one who blew up the house?"

"No John! Someone was trying to kill me. Someone else left the note. I rode away & bombed everything at the same time."

"Right, now we're on the same page," John followed Sherlock into the living room again. The each went to their own rooms to get dressed. "So who died then? You said when you saw these pictures the first time, someone died."

"Someone I knew who was also in hiding."

John paused halfway through putting on his shirt & stared at the wall separating him from Sherlock. That man was still managing to hide things. "I'm, uh, sorry to hear that. Was this person a friend of yours?" He tried fishing for information.

"I can count my friends on one hand," Sherlock evaded as he stepped back into the living room at the same time as John. He smoothed down his favourite purple satin shirt & then held up three fingers. "Molly. Lestra...Greg. Mrs. Hudson." He turned to pick the papers off the table & put them back in the envelope.

John curiously watched him before clearing his throat. "Haven't you forgotten someone?" He took a tentative step forward.

Sherlock looked back over his shoulder at him. "You've been upgraded from a mere friend as of last night." He went back to his papers as if that settled the matter.

John didn't know whether to laugh or kill something so his face took on several contorted looks before he could set himself straight. He mentally kicked himself. He should have known that Sherlock would be unable to actually voice any love for John or anyone else even if it was to save his life. If it had been anyone else, John knew he'd probably have his heart crushed. But this was Sherlock. Being allowed to actually touch him in that way was a grand achievement itself. Not just anyone could do that. In fact, John wondered if he was the only person alive right now who had been granted that favor. The four men didn't count. As Sherlock had once said, he was keeping something safe & would do what was needed. It was not at all the same as what he had recently shared with the detective & though Sherlock had a hard time admitting it, John could see the pain of that horrific night in Sherlock's eyes whenever he tried to broach the topic.

John opened the fridge to find something to eat. Something sat in a plate, sticking straight up & wrapped in a clear plastic bag. John closed the door. He opened it again but it was still there. Leaving the door open, he returned to his armchair empty handed & flopped down. He looked near to being sick.

"I thought you were getting something to eat?"

"I'm no longer hungry."

"Is something wrong?"

"What do you think?" John jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the open fridge but didn't look at it.

"I understand," Sherlock nodded.

"Do you? Do you REALLY understand?"

"Yes," Sherlock said. "It's been a few years. You're no longer used to a few body parts in the fridge again. Molly let me have that the other day."

"Nope. It isn't that. Not that at all."

"Then what is it?"

"Sherlock! There is a …a…." John gestured helplessly towards the kitchen.

"Penis. Go on?"

"Yes. THAT! In the fridge."

"We are both men. We each have one. What is your problem?"

"It's in the fridge!" John enunciated. "THE FRIDGE!" A long moment passed. "What are you doing with that anyway & if you say experiment, I'll have you in shackles set for a slaughter!"

"It's for an idea I had," Sherlock rephrased himself from the start, slightly chagrined. John bit his lower lip, trying to not jump from his chair to punch Sherlock. "I wasn't planning on telling you what for but since you figured it out. I wanted to check to see how long after death semen could be traced back to the male it was from. In case certain people—in the event that …"

John felt his heart break after all. He had never heard Sherlock at a loss for words before. "You wanted to track down each of those monsters, didn't you?" When Sherlock didn't answer, John held up a hand & said softly, "Come here."

Reluctantly, Sherlock did so. He stood in front of John, then knelt down. He crossed his arms over John's lap, touched his forehead down & let out a shuddering breath. John pressed his fingers into the damp curls & began rubbing Sherlock's head. John didn't know how long they remained like that. It felt like forever. The constant drone of the open fridge became ever louder, crying to be closed.

Sherlock finally raised his head, though he did not meet John's eyes. "Well, three were taken care of," He finally went on. "I was not expecting to catch the fourth one so soon."

"Considering the fact that he got 'that' part," John again pointed with a jerked thumb over his shoulder to the fridge. "shot clean off, I doubt your idea would have worked anyway."

Sherlock actually laughed, short & half-hearted, but a laugh it was. "Perhaps you're right."

"What?"

"You're ears are clean. I have no need to repeat myself." Sherlock stood up, casting the doctor a glare. John noticed that his eyes were clear. He didn't even cry. Iceman indeed. "I should … close that door."

"Please do," John pressed. Sherlock nodded & headed for the fridge. He heard the door of the fridge close. "Sherlock, you know I would never do that to you, right?"

"Why would you? You don't have a need to keep a few body parts around."

"Rape you," John corrected. Sherlock nearly dropped the now-empty kettle but caught it again & set it on the counter. "You know I would never force you, right?"

Sherlock turned to look at John, leaning against the counter. "I know that."

"Good," John said. "Never fear me, alright?"

Sherlock clasped his hands in front of himself & rocked back & forth a few times. Though he wasn't fully smiling, John could see a faint hint of one. "I don't."

That was about the closest either one of them had come to mentioning the famous— or infamous— three words to each other & John knew it. He sighed & automatically glanced to the table where the large yellow envelope lay. He picked it up. "We should work on finding out who did this." He looked up to see Sherlock already in his long black coat & halfway out the door. John took a minute to find his own coat. He heard the Aston Martin rev as he locked the door behind him & hurried down the stairs. 

"Good afternoon, Doctor."

John stopped on the stairs & looked up, past 221B, to the next floor. "Uh, hi?"

"Going after your friend?"

John checked the man up & down. "Why would you want to know?"

"Oh just curious," said the man. "Though I should say, judging by the sounds in the past twenty four hours, I think he's something other than a friend," the man added, coming down to John's level.

John's face went scarlet & he felt it. Most of those sounds had come from him. John pushed the thoughts aside & stared at this man, sizing him up. He was tall & skinny but not in an unhealthy way. His black-greying hair hung down to his shoulders, tied up neatly in a tail. His moustache came to a point on either side & both points were turned down over a goatee-style beard. But it was the eyes that caught John's attention most of all. The eyes were very familiar. John wondered where he had seen this man before. "Who are you?"

"Your neighbour from above. I have been for nearly five years."

John suddenly took a military stance. Five years? That was around the time he had first come to 221B yet he knew that he had never seen this man here. Right? "I don't remember seeing you here."

"Now don't get all soldier-like on me," the man muttered. "I mean no harm."

"Who are you?" John repeated.

"Just your upstairs neighbour as I always have been."

"I've never seen you here before," John took a few more steps down.

"I'm hardly ever actually here."

"Alright, I'm going to leave now."

"Oh don't let me keep you," the man shrugged & headed up to his own flat again.

John watched until he had disappeared & then ducked into Mrs. Hudson's flat. "Who is that?"

"Who?"

"That man," John nodded to the door. "From the flat just above ours?"

"Oh that's Shane," Mrs. Hudson said. "Strange fellow, but really nice. He's always offering to help about the flat here."

"What do you know of him?"

"Not much," said Mrs. Hudson. "He actually owns the flat. He's been in & out through the years."

"I didn't know you could buy these." 

"I wasn't planning on selling," Mrs. Hudson shrugged. "But he handed me enough money all at once cover rent for at least twenty years. So I left him to it."

"He seems to have an interest in Sherlock all of a sudden."

Mrs. Hudson smiled at him. "You're cute when you're jealous."

"Not that kind of interest. At least, I hope not," John turned & left quickly before Sherlock gave up on him & drove away.

Sherlock parked a street away from the police station. The two of them got out to walk the rest of the way. Sherlock slowed to a stop as the rounded the corner in full sight of the building. "I wasn't expecting to return just yet."

"It's where this came from," John waved the envelope in the air. "So that's the place to start."

Sherlock started walking once more. He stepped up to the door, hesitated a moment & then pushed in. He headed straight for Lestrade's office without looking to either side.

"Well you just made my day, Holmes," Anderson had just come out of a door & stopped when he noticed Sherlock, who suddenly put both hands, one in each pocket, in his long black coat & glared back. "I knew it," Anderson chewed a bit of his sandwich. "Fake through & through. That included the death too. I knew you faked that." He took another bite before going on. "I made few bets. Looks like I won. Thanks to you, I'm three thousand pounds richer. Oh & Lestrade owes me a raise." He finished his sandwich, smacking his lips. "What took you so long to get back anyway?"

"Still on the force I see? Who do you have to screw just to keep your job?"

"Sherlock," John moaned, not for pleasure either.

Anderson glared. "You're just mad that I'm actually better than you think I am."

"Better at screwing no doubt."

"Sherlock," John pinched his nose between his fingertips.

Anderson huffed. "I won't stand for you insults. I don't have to listen to you."

"Then take them lying down as you do everything else," Sherlock retorted.

"Hey, I was born for this job. I'm good at it."

"Yeah well, you know what they say," Sherlock flicked his brow up a moment. "Don't quit your 'blow' job."

"Let's go," John sang in a sickeningly sugar-sweet voice, putting one hand on Sherlock's back to push him ahead.

Sherlock didn't budge. He waited for Anderson to march past him, banging into Sherlock shoulder against shoulder. Sherlock turned around to glare at Anderson's retreating back until the man actually left the station. He grunted under breath & turned to head for Lestrade's office.

"So I'll just be nee—oh my God!" Sally Donavan had just appeared, carrying a few files. She dropped them as she screamed blue murder. "VAMPIRE! HE'S A VAMPIRE!" John quickly ducked behind a desk & pretended to be very interested in something, hoping she wouldn't notice him. Sally didn't as she ran for the side door, still screaming about vampires as she rushed to get into her car. "He really is a freak!" She yelped as the door finally opened. She got in & backed up, crashing into another cruiser (later found out to be Lestrade's unfortunately), actually moving it from its place. Her back bumper half fell off but she didn't notice & sped away, bumper dragging along behind, causing sparks. Lestrade came rushing out of his office at the first scream.

Sherlock had watched through the window, as the woman rushed wildly away in her car & then turned to Lestrade, the biggest childish grin ever plastered on his face. "May I please do that one again?"

"No you may not!" Lestrade shouted at him. "Office! NOW! What do you think you're do—is that my—that's my cruiser! You made her put a dent in my cruiser!" (That put it mildly. In fact, the ruined car had been pushed into another parking space ... two spaces down, a large break in the side nearly cutting it lengthwise in two.) Lestrade put both hands on his head & looked like he was about to pull his hair out. He suddenly noticed the war doctor trying to be inconspicuous. "Watson!"

"Yes?" John yelped, standing straight, knocking over a small desk lamp in the process. He tried to stand it up, but since it was now broken, it merely fell over again, right off the desk. He picked it up again.

"Leave it!"

"Sorry." John let go. The lamp fell right back onto the floor, making him wince. "Really sorry."

"Get him," Lestrade pointed at Sherlock, not caring about the lamp or apology at all. "into my office. I'll be with you in a bit." He hurried out the same door Sally had used to inspect his bashed cruiser.

"I have a name!" Sherlock snapped, his coat flaring out as he attempted to raise & spread his hands still in the pockets.

"Not now, Sherlock. Not now!" John pushed the consulting detective on his back, herding him to the office. He pointed Sherlock into a chair once they were inside the office & then half-sat on the edge of the desk.

"That was fun!"

"It was, wasn't it?" John finally smiled now that Lestrade wasn't around to see him. "Uh-oh. Incoming. Straight face!" He hurried to sit in the chair next to the wall.

"Oh, don't act all serious," Lestrade complained the moment he entered. He turned his glare on Sherlock. "My cruiser is ruined no thanks to you so you better pay for it."

"Oh-ho!" John gasped under breath & turned his face away.

Sherlock's glare carried more venom than a cobra. "It is not my fault she believes in mythological creatures such as vampires or that she can not drive. If anything, Miss Donovan should be the one to pay, out of her pay-check no less."

"You both show up here, unannounced when you, Sherlock, are supposed to be playing dead," Greg returned the glare. "How do expect my officers to react?"

"With money, actually."

"What?"

"He's right," Anderson stopped by the door. "Remember my bet? You owe me a raise." He left without waiting for a reply.

"Told you," Sherlock sassed with a soft subtle smile.

Lestrade buried his face in both hands. He forced out a long breath & looked up at them again. "What do you want?"

"Mycroft didn't do this," Sherlock pulled the papers from the envelope & laid them on the table. "They're official despite the Webdings pictures that stand for S & H. I'd like to take a closer look at your cameras."

"S & H. Your initials," Lestrade looked down where the pictures were. "This is supposed to be a signature. Why would someone put your initials in code?"

"They're not my initials," Sherlock said. "Someone just doesn't want to be found & so is trying to hide behind them."

"Yeah, I get that," Lestrade nodded as John eyed Sherlock from his chair on the side. He then appeared to be looking at the floor, though he was miles away as something started to fall into place in his mind. Lestrade went on. "I'll show you the film for the time this showed up." Lestrade left to find them. He was gone several minutes during which time John glared coolly at the man sitting in the chair in front of the table.

"What?" Sherlock finally muttered, somewhat annoyed.

"You're not Sherlock Holmes."


	14. Chapter 14

**(14) Guardian**

Mycroft stood in his younger brother's garage, facing the Lamborghini. He tapped his umbrella on the hard cement a few times & then marched across the floor to the door leading into the next garage, his own. He pressed one hand to his injured side & tried not to breathe too deeply before opening the door to his limo & sliding into the back seat. At a single nod, his driver turned the car on, pressed a button the sent the garage door sliding up & open & drove into the courtyard, then onto the road.

Mycroft opened his long slim black wallet, turned it backwards & plucked away at a seam made over what used to be an opening. He pulled out an old picture. It was of two boys, Holmes brothers. The eldest on the left & the younger on the right. Mycroft himself, was probably no older than ten in that picture.

Mycroft looked at his mobile as if for the unknown time that day. He re-read the text again.

YOU KNOW THE PLACE, MIKE. I'LL BE WAITING.

-SHE

Mycroft sighed & rested his head against the back of the seat. To anyone who didn't know him, it looked as though he had fallen asleep. In reality, he was thinking hard. He had never expected that particular text to show up. It had nearly given him a heart attack.

If he was lucky, texts from that person came once maybe every two or three years, but never once had Mycroft been asked to meet in person even though a place had been set between them many years ago, just in case. Then five years of silence had gone by. Mycroft was sure that the other was probably killed by now. Apparently not & to meet in person? It had been years, at least a couple of decades since last they saw each other. They were never to meet again.

Unless something had gone horribly wrong.

"Sir?"

Mycroft started. He realised that the limo had come to a full stop & probably stopped for a while. His driver, the only other person with him this time, had been holding the door open waiting. Mycroft got out & opened the umbrella. It was pouring rain & the wind was cold.

"We have arrived in Reading, Sir."

"Yes, thank you," Mycroft glanced around. The Thames flowed dully to his left, fogged over by the torrential downpour. The place he was going to was on the shore of the river.

"Are you sure you want to go on alone?"

"Yes, I'll be fine."

"You know it isn't safe to leave you alone."

"I won't be alone. I'll meet you here in two hours."

Mycroft watched as the limo pulled away, then he turned & walked down the street, around the corner & into an alley. At the other end, was another street, a dead end one. It led to a small lonely cottage with light coming from the kitchen window. He stood on the porch in silence for a few minutes before finally making his presence known. He rang the doorbell.

A young woman opened the door, looking to be around Sherlock's age or perhaps just a bit younger. She had long black hair falling freely to her hips & wore several bangles & rings. A gold necklace with an Amethyst heart graced her neck. Dangling earrings that barely touched her shoulders sparkled in the light. They were three strings each of tiny diamonds. She wore a long dark red-brown dress that hugged her figure & had a spun threaded dark golden-colored shawl around her shoulders. She had the look of a Gypsy. Mycroft gasped slightly as she wordlessly led him to the kitchen. She took his coat & umbrella & left. Mycroft turned his attention to the man standing in the window, looking at the Thames passing by the back end of the small property. "Hello Shane."

Shane turned quickly as if startled. "Mike!" He gasped, running forward. The two men clung to each other in a tight embrace. Both men burst into tears, holding each other close while sobbing into the other's shoulder. It took a few minutes fore either of them to subside.

"I thought I'd never see you again," Mycroft nearly wept against the other man's neck. He suddenly pushed away a little. "We're not supposed to meet again .What the hell are you doing, Shane?"

"Now don't lecture me, Mike," Shane began.

Mycroft held him close again. "You're supposed to be dead. If the wrong people know you're here … especially with, with, oh Shane! Is she really Ennie?"

"Yes, that's her," Shane said. "She doesn't know about us & she thinks I'm just an Uncle. What happened to your face?" He noticed a small bandage across the bridge of Mycroft's nose.

"Sherlock punched me a while ago," Mycroft shrugged. "It isn't as bad as it looks. Don't change the topic! Dear Mummy, have mercy," He gasped, holding back a fresh wave of tears. "What is happening? Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?"

"That's why we have to make this quick," Shane said, pressing his hands against Mycroft's shoulder blades. They stood nose-to-nose in each other's embrace for a moment. Shane gripped Mycroft's hand & pulled him towards the living room. "Come sit down, Mike."

"Don't call me Mike. You know I hate that."

Shane stretched across the couch, patted the area beside him & smiled slyly. "Very well … Adrian."

"Silence!" Mycroft glared.

Shane burst out laughing. "Are you going to come lie down or not?"

"What do you want?" Mycroft asked, lying down opposite of Shane's position so they could meet each other's eyes. He put a cushion across Shane's legs so he could rest more comfortably.

Shane lost his playfulness. "We have a problem."

"Sherlock."

"Yes," Shane nodded his head once, curtly. "He & his partner are already digging around in things they shouldn't. Sherlock can get me killed & we can't have that."

"You know how he is once he's set his mind to a case," Mycroft said. "What do you need?"

"I want to know exactly how much Sherlock has told you?"

"Oh that," Mycroft muttered. "Not much." He told Shane all that had gotten from his little brother.

Shane scoffed. "You're right. Not much. Alright, now John Watson?" Again, Mycroft didn't have much to add, other than the fact he thought John would tell him something when he did find out as it seemed that the doctor was in the dark as much as anyone else.

"Wrong," Shane said. "I have the flat right above them. Been there for the past five years. Posted myself there like a guardian."

"What?" Mycroft was not happy. "You could have been killed. Hiding in plain sight like that!"

"Sometimes it's the best way," Shane shrugged. "Technically, I haven't actually been there all that time. I own the place I guess you could say. I left when Sherlock died. I followed him around all the time. It took me a while to figure it out, but once I knew he hadn't committed suicide after all, I went after him."

"And you were going to tell me he was alive, when, exactly?"

Shane grabbed Mycroft's ankles to stop him from swinging his legs off the couch to stand. Mycroft grumbled & lay back down again. "I'm sorry, Mikey." (Mycroft cross-rolled his eyes shut at the pet term.) "I just didn't have the time. You know how much of handful Sherlock can be."

"That I can agree with."

"Before I go on, is there anything you'd like to add? You mentioned what Sherlock & John both told you. But what's your view?"

"All I know is that Canada is extremely important to Sherlock," Mycroft said. "I also know that somehow, Canada is linked to the person who shot me. Who that is though I don't know. I do think that the person who shot me may be the same one in Swansea who first told me that Sherlock was alive."

"Right on all accounts."

"You know who did this?" Mycroft rubbed his side.

"Yes & so does Sherlock," Shane said. "As does John."

"John? Well, guess I can't trust that man to tell me anything after all."

"John just found out himself," Shane defended. "Being in the flat above, I can listen in on their conversations. I have a vent set up between the floors just for that purpose. John hasn't had the time to come to you yet. He was …erm … busy."

"Busy how?" Mycroft narrowed his eyes, not impressed at all.

"Mating with Sherlock."

"Oh."

"'Oh' indeed," Shane purred. Both men suddenly burst out laughing, Mycroft trying not to as it hurt his side where he had been grazed.

"So, he's no longer the Virgin, is he?" Mycroft finally managed to say. "About time."

Shane cast a sad look over Mycroft's shoulder to some point on the wall. "No, he isn't."

"Why do you say it like that?"

Shane closed his eyes. "Before John, Sherlock was gang-raped by four men."

"WHAT?" This time Mycroft did jump to his feet. He moved so fast that he felt a hot sticky feeling in his side. Great, he had just ripped his healing wound open.

"The night he came back, he was severely injured," Shane explained.

"Why didn't he tell me?" Mycroft asked, his voice hoarse.

"He didn't even tell John," Shane said. "John had to find out on his own. We're lucky that a doctor ended up being Sherlock's flatmate." He pointed to the wall where a first aide kit hung from a hook next to the mantle. "Bring that here. I've become a doctor myself." After re-bandaging the wound, Shane put the kit aside & made Mycroft lie next to him as before. "Don't move so fast again."

"I can't believe he didn't tell me," Mycroft swept a single tear away with one hand. "I'm his elder brother. My God! Does he hate me that much?"

"You have no idea how much Sherlock hates you," Shane replied flatly.

"There's more?"

"Lot's more," said Shane. "You really have no idea but you will when I'm done with you."

Mycroft took one hard look at Shane. "You know, don't you? You know everything. Canada. The one who told me about Sherlock. The one who shot me."

"Of course," Shane rubbed the tops of Mycroft's legs, hoping to stop him from jumping up again. "I've been stalking Sherlock these past two & a half years once I caught up to him again. He slipped away once or twice but I always found him."

"How did you know? We all thought he was dead & gone," Mycroft interrupted. "How did you find out he was still alive? Oh the assassins that moved in. You picked up on that then?"

"No I never knew they were there until it was too late," Shane admitted. "I was gone on another job for a few weeks. When I came back, I was quite surprised to hear that Sherlock Holmes had jumped from a roof. If I'd known he'd get into trouble for that time, I'd have kept a better eye on him."

"So how did you find out?"

"I went to his grave about six months later," said Shane. "It took me that long to get up the nerve to say goodbye. That's when I knew. Graves settle over time, right? His grave was settled too much. Mike, I'm sorry but I dug it up. I dug eight feet down, not just six. Mike, there was no coffin. No body. The first mistake? There was an urn of ashes but if anyone knows the Holmes family, cremation is just not the way to go. So I tested the ashes. They didn't belong to any one person in particular & certainly no DNA matching the Holmes family. Did I say mistake? Sorry that's wrong. It was a message left by Sherlock but no one saw it except me. He must have gone behind our backs after the funeral, dug up & got rid of his own coffin, not to mention the body of whatever stranger was in it, & left us that urn."

"Ashes," Mycroft echoed in a deadpan voice. "He left us ashes. We Holmes prefer a casket & full funeral. It's a tradition."

"I think a new tradition should be added," Shane said. "Dig up the grave once to make sure there are no ashes."

"But there was a body in that casket," Mycroft stated.

"Anyone can look like anyone else with a bit of professional makeup," Shane shrugged. "I don't know who that was, but obviously not Sherlock."

"I thought that grave looked strange when I went to visit once," Mycroft went on. "I asked around, looking for any reports of cemetery vandalism but nothing turned up. I eventually passed it off to stress affecting my eyes."

"Well, it was me really." Shane shrugged as if it was nothing. He sighed as a silence fell between them.

"What do you intend to do about Sherlock?" Mycroft finally asked.

Shane ignored the question. "Ennie? Come here please."

"Yes, Shane?" The young woman seemed to have come out of the shadows.

"Come meet Mycroft," Shane jerked his head in the other man's direction. "You two have seen each other only once before."

"I don't remember, sorry," Ennie hung her head.

"You wouldn't either," said Mycroft. "You were just born. A few minutes old. I was ten. I dimly remember. You were the second newborn I ever held & I had never been so scared in my life."

"Why?"

"The first baby I held was a disaster," Mycroft pursed his lips into a scowl. "I was seven then. Sherlock was quiet & good for Mummy but then she handed him to me. He hated me from day one. I never thought something so small as he could start shrieking & screaming the instant I touched him!" Mycroft stopped to glare at Shane who was snickering uncontrollably. He grabbed the ponytail & gave it a little yank before going on. Shane's yelp was ignored. "Naturally, when I met the second infant of my life, I thought you'd hate me to. You were crying like crazy but then I picked you up. You went straight to sleep."

"I didn't hate you then?" Ennie asked.

"No, certainly not," said Mycroft. "It was instant love, something Sherlock knows nothing about at times, it seems."

Ennie lost her blushing smile. "Sherlock sounds like a horrible person."

"He can be," Mycroft admitted with a laugh. "Mostly, he's just stubborn & likes to drive me crazy. He's my little brother so what can I expect?"

"I don't know. I was an only child," Ennie said. A whistle started blaring from the kitchen. "The tea is ready. I'll be back."

Mycroft nodded & rested his head on the cushion again. "An only child. I can't do this, Shane." He covered his face with both hands.

Shane could feel more than hear the faint cries. "Adrian Mycroft Scott Holmes. You have no choice."

"I know," Mycroft gasped in a whisper. "I know. What's going on with Canada?"

"I'll tell you on the way."

"Way? Where?"

"I'm going to meet Sherlock," Shane went on. "With Ennie so she'll hear the truth as I'm telling you."

"You can't do that!"

"I have no choice," Shane insisted. "He'll get me killed if I don't. Just once, Mike. He's old enough to know the truth & besides, you & I both know he's perfectly capable of keeping secrets. Look what he did with Miss Adler."

"Oh God, you know about her too?"

"Of course," Shane said. "More than you do as does Sherlock. Again."

"I'm not even going to ask," Mycroft muttered.

"Like I said, I'll tell you later. Right now we have more important things to discuss."

"So, you found out Sherlock was alive," Mycroft turned back to the topic. "What then?"

"I took some time trying to find him since he had gotten a six-month start ahead of me. But when I saw those ashes, I knew I had to find him," Shane paused in is story, idly playing with Mycroft's hand that lay between them. They were lying on each other's left side. Shane lazily entwined & un-entwined his fingers with Mycroft's a few times. He suddenly stopped. "That's when I knew Sherlock had lied. He was alive somewhere & the trail was six months cold. I had to leave. It's been a nightmare ever since. Dearest Adrian Mycroft! It's my fault Sherlock is in the mess he's in now."

"How so?"

"I was followed."

"By who?"

"Same man who told you Sherlock was alive. Same one who shot you." Shane turned his face away, eyes closed. "Oh God! What have I done?" He lifted one leg over Mycroft so as to hold him down, being careful of his newly re-opened wound. "Same reason why Sherlock hates you so & doesn't bother to tell you of the danger you're in. He thinks he can keep you out of his way by keeping you in the dark. Well, it nearly didn't work."

"Who? Will you please tell me?"

"James Moriarty."


	15. Chapter 15

**(15) Stolen Friend**

"You're not Sherlock Holmes."

"What makes you say that?"

"The way you said that those aren't your initials," John began. Sherlock tried to cut in but the soldier raised a hand for silence. Usually Sherlock wouldn't care, but the predatory gaze in the battle-hardened man kept him quiet. "Also, while I was in Quebec; whenever you texted me, you'd simply sign out with S, not S & H."

"John," Sherlock began but Lestrade entered at that moment.

"Found them," Lestrade put a USB port into the computer, tapped a few keys & the video popped up. "There you go, take over. Sherlock?" Lestrade stopped, noticing the glare passing between the two old friends. Judging by that glare, he wondered if they were still friends. Had dabbling in love ruined everything?

"Lestr … Greg," Sherlock used the first name at last. "Could you excuse us for a few minutes?"

"No, Greg, I'd like you to stay for this," John said.

Sherlock glared at him then looked back at Lestrade. "Right now? Please?"

"If he leaves, so do I."

"You're safe, John," Sherlock cast him a helpless puppy-dog look. "I just need a few minutes." Lestrade was looking back & forth between them, finally ending on John who rolled his eyes & nodded. Once Lestrade left, Sherlock asked, "So what do you think then?"

"What should I think?" John stood up & walked around the table to Lestrade's chair. He didn't sit in it. Instead, he spread his hands on the table & leaned forward. "You look like him. Sound like him. Act like him for God's sake! Who are you?"

"The answer is very simple."

"Is it?"

"I've mentioned it twice, John."

"Don't play games with me. I'm not in the mood!" John ordered. "My God! I let you touch me, thinking you were...him."

"I am!" Sherlock stood up. "John it's me. Sherlock. Just not Sherlock Holmes! This is why I don't let emotions control me. You can't think straight even though you have the answer twice over. Three times, since you know what my Canadian package is. Think John. Think!" He reached over to take hold of John's hand.

"No, don't," John murmured, standing straight as he pulled away.

"Iraq or Afghanistan? That's the first thing I asked you. Iraq or Afghanistan?" Sherlock tried again. "John, it is me. Right here." He stepped around the table as well, until he stood in front of John. He said again, this time in a whisper, "Iraq or Afghanistan? I took your mobile in hand to make a text since mine didn't work."

John looked the man before him up & down. Sherlock's voice had very nearly cracked into a sob. He actually had a faint hint of panic in his eyes. "Sherlock?"

"Yes," Sherlock said & John wondered if he had gasped in relief.

"Not Holmes?"

"Not until those papers showed up," Sherlock said. "I'm a Holmes again. John, I renounced the family name a long time ago."

"You had to lie low, change your name probably a few times," John said slowly.

"Yes!" This time there was no mistaking the relief in Sherlock's voice. "It was just to stay safe, off the grid." He took another step & was now nose-to-nose with John.

He might as well have been standing on the beach in Canada for all the good it did. A wall of silence thick enough to actually feel stood between them. John took long deep breaths, trying to calm himself. He suddenly felt lips pressed lightly on his own. Sherlock had taken a closer step towards him, his icy eyes staring into John's as he waited for some sort of reaction. John fixed his vision on a curl protruding at an odd angle so he wouldn't have to see the ice, melting though it was for him (only for him), while he tried to relax. The lips stayed on his. It was the strangest kiss in John's life. It was the only thing Sherlock could come up with to offer any sort of comfort. Still touching, John finally smiled. Sherlock felt that & forced John against the wall, finally deepening their prolonged kiss.

John slipped a hand up the purple satin until it rested on Sherlock's chest. He pushed away. "Don't you EVER scare me like that again you blithering bumbling fool! Is that clear?"

Sherlock stepped back at the rebuke. "Yes, sir!"

"Good," John folded his arms over his chest, glaring in disapproval.

Sherlock returned to his chair & sat down. John followed, arms still crossed. He stood, still glaring. Sherlock merely gave him 'the look' as he asked, "Do you want another kiss?"

"Oh God, yes!"

Lestrade walked in a moment later to find John across Sherlock's lap & caught up in a lip-locked frenzy. "A-HEM!" The two broke apart so fast that John actually fell off Sherlock & crashed to the floor with a yelp.

Sherlock stood up quickly, stepping over John. "I'll just be checking that footage now. You ok, John?" He asked rather absent-mindedly as he began looking at the computer screen. Lestrade glared first at Sherlock & then at John still sprawled on the floor.

"I'm not his friend," John got up. "I've been upgraded."

"I need to talk to you while Sherlock looks at the videos," Lestrade didn't care to ask what 'upgraded' meant; though, he had a pretty good idea.

John nodded & led the way into the hall & then another office. It was Anderson's but he wasn't around at the time. Lestrade closed the door behind him. "What is it?" John asked.

"I got a call from Mr. Arlin's lawyer," Lestrade started. "What exactly is going on? The man is pressing charges even though we all know it was his own gun that injured him."

"It was an accident," said John. "His partner had me held under & I pushed the gun away. It went off & well, that's where it struck. It's a good thing to, after what he did. I pressed a few charges of my own."

"What did he do?"

John took a moment to think. "Alright, I'm going to tell you two things. The truth & a lie. Truth can not leave this room without Sherlock's permission."

"Let's hear it."

"Truth first," John started. "I'm not sorry he got shot there. You remember the night Sherlock came home? How hurt he was? You didn't create that bruise he showed us."

"You know what happened? Was that man involved?"

"Yes," John said. "As are the other three you pulled off Mycroft's land, one of which is dead. Sher—I was gang-raped by them."

"What? Please tell me that's the lie!" Lestrade gasped. A minute went by. "SHERLOCK was? He was! Why are you claiming to be the victim?"

"Sherlock doesn't want to talk about it."

"I don't blame him."

"So until he does, let me handle this guy," John said. "Sherlock acts like he doesn't care. Just something that happened. Move on. I can't get him to confront this. Not yet. But I do care! I want to bring down all of them for what they did. Thank God one of them got killed already. I hope they all die!"

Lestrade took a step back from the look of rage in John's eyes. "Brave words in a place like this."

"What would you do?" John demanded.

"I would get my revenge, but lawfully," Lestrade said. "John, don't do anything stupid."

"I won't," whispered John. "But I will make them pay for what they've done! Make no mistake & don't get in my way."

"Watson!" Lestrade warned.

"I won't do anything illegal. That's all I can say."

"They're already behind bars thanks to Mycroft," Lestrade said. "Remember that."

"I'll make sure they stay there." John turned & flung open the door.

Anderson had just stepped up & gasped in surprise at having his own door wrenched from his hands as he tried to open it. "What are you two doing here?"

"We're done," Lestrade hurried after John.

Anderson watched them leave & then closed the door. He leaned back against it. "Alright, I know you wouldn't fake something like a rape." He sighed & let his head fall back until it touched the door as well. "Okay, relax." He went to his desk & turned on the computer.

"So anything?" Lestrade asked once they had returned to Sherlock's side. Lestrade tried desperately not to show any concern on his face. He kept checking back with John.

"Mycroft wants me home." Sherlock continued to sift through footage, not planning to go anywhere. "Your cameras repeat the same frames over & over for two minutes past midnight. That's when whoever left that envelope got in here."

"So what does that tell us?" John couldn't see anything but knew Sherlock probably had some ideas.

"I can start checking street cameras around that time," Sherlock turned the computer off. "Find a license plate or something that came by here around then. They couldn't have gone after all the cameras. There always has to be a mistake somewhere."

The entire building started shaking. "What is that?" Lestrade asked.

"Just Mycroft's helicopter. He was very insistent."

"You've got to be kidding me!" Lestrade moaned as he walked away, rubbing his face. The vibrations grew worse but suddenly stopped. "Where did he land? Actually, don't even answer that."

"Very well," Sherlock said. "Where are the stairs leading to the roof?"

Lestrade rolled his eyes. He got his answer after all. "Follow me."

"Holmes. Mr. Holmes!" Anderson called, running up. "These are for you."

"What?" Sherlock took the files. Sifting through them, his face slowly turned into a scowl. "You're giving me the files on Mr. Arlin & three of his surviving partners?"

"Well, one of them has pressed charges against Watson," Anderson said. "So I thought you'd might want to have all the files to help him out."

"Since when do you ever help me?"

"I'm not," Anderson defended. "I'm helping John. Whether you believe it or not, I'm just doing my job. I don't have to like it when I don't want to. Those files were needed. I brought them over." He gave a pointed look at Lestrade & John, letting them know he had overheard. "Why should I be nice to a completely fake idiot such as yourself even if you do make me rich?" With that he stomped away. Lestrade & John both tried very hard not to smile at Anderson's brilliance trying to keep up appearances.

Sherlock turned to Lestrade. "Maybe …maybe uh, don't fire him just yet."

"Wasn't planning to."

"But I've been trying to get you to for a while," Sherlock tucked the files under his right arm & held out keys. He took one off & handed it over. "Greg? Take care of my Aston Martin while I'm away. It's the only one out there."

"Alright," Lestrade left them at the bottom of the stairs. The vibrations started once more & soon disappeared.

"You're letting Greg drive your Aston Martin but not me your Lambo?" John asked as the chopper flew towards Mycroft's home.

"He isn't driving my Lambo either."

"But I will." John sat back with a grin.

"We're still debating that fact."

"No we're not!"

Once landed, Sherlock led John to the barn. "Mycroft will be here in an hour."

"What does he want now?"

"I'm to meet with two people who will explain those papers bringing me back to life," Sherlock explained, handing that envelope & all the files over to John. "Bach needs a little run so I'm taking him out while waiting for Mycroft. I can saddle Lady Saffie for you?"

"I hate horses, remember?"

"Don't say that in here!" Sherlock reached for Bach's ears, covering them.

"I just don't like them," John rephrased himself. "I want a dog." He suddenly added.

"A dog?" Sherlock gave him a curious look. "Why a dog?"

"Something I can hold & cuddle with I guess," John shrugged, not knowing how to answer. He wanted a dog. Most people did, right?

"You hold & cuddle me. Am I to be replaced?"

"No!"

"Then why do you need a dog?"

"I've always wanted a dog. I even have a name for it when I get one. Gladstone."

"Oh please!" Sherlock cinched the saddle's girth a bit more snugly. "You can hold & cuddle me all you want. I know how to bark."

"That isn't the same thing!" John complained.

"I certainly hope not! I draw the line at bestiality," Sherlock dropped Bach's reins, ignoring John indignant huff. He scooted over to John until their hips touched. Then he turned the smaller man to face him & gave him a kiss. "You said you wanted me in shackles."

"What?" John laughed in surprise. Then he remembered. "Oh, that. Sorry little love. No morphine."

"Not that little," Sherlock lost his childish smile, let go of John like a hot potato & focused on his stallion, pouting. "Will you come for a ride with me or not?"

"Can't. No morphine!" John smiled slyly. "Why don't we wait in the house?"

"Mycroft said no," Sherlock began. "Whoever we're supposed to meet is top secret. We have to stay away until they are secured. Even the staff have left. It's just us here with the horses."

"I'll take a walk. Away from the house, don't worry."

Sherlock mounted his horse. "See you in one hour then."

John nodded, watching him ride away. He leaned against the doorframe as Bach jumped over hurdles laid out in the field. Sherlock rode to the other side, opened the gate & then headed off on the trail into the mountains. John started to close the barn door.

"There you are!"

John looked up to see a fist come for his face. He ducked & grabbed the arm. Swinging up his other hand, he caught the arm & flung the man over his shoulder to land hard on the ground nearby. Someone grabbed him from behind.

"Hold him!"

John struggled as another man grabbed his hair. The one he had thrown finally got up & his two captors began dragging him away. John kicked hard at the doorframe several times, leaving marks for Mycroft or Sherlock to find & then gave up until he could gain better control. He was dragged around the barn & across the yard. They reached a few trees in the center.

"Hey look," the man on John's right pointed up the steep hill leading into the mountain. "Sherlock's riding up there."

John glanced up in the direction & saw Bach running at full speed along the edge of the steep embankment. It was perhaps a few hundred feet up or more. If that horse put so much as a horseshoe out of place! What was it with Sherlock & heights anyway? There was no way Sherlock could have seen them. The horse came to a stop at the end where it wasn't so steep & John relaxed over so slightly.

"Should I go & fetch him?" The second man asked someone John couldn't yet see.

"No, he'll come down soon enough," James Moriarty stepped into sight. John took a long deep breath but said nothing. "Aww, not surprised to see me? I was hoping for a better reaction. Oh well." He nodded to something behind the trees & John was turned around by his captors to see. A car was waiting, neatly hidden among the trunks of the grove. The boot was open. James turned back to John. "You look mad at seeing me," he purred. "Have I done something wrong, honey?"

"Who are you calling honey?" John demanded.

"Oh come on darlin'!" James ran one hand through John's hair. "You literally jumped me last time we met even though you had a bomb on." He suddenly yanked John's head close & whispered seductively in his ear. "I have every intention of giving you that explosion." John didn't answer. James gave up & nodded to his men. "Put him in."

As they hauled John forward, he began struggling again but it was no use. He suddenly threw his head back & screamed as loud as he could. "MORIARTY!" It had the desired effect, echoing & re-echoing over the hills & far away. Please hear that Sherlock! He watched sadly as Bach had begun trotting the way he had come. But then. Bach stopped. Oh God let Sherlock hear that, please!

Sherlock sat his horse, listening to the faint echo. He turned Bach around & headed towards the end of the cliff again … & went right over down the gentler side though it was still a high slope. Sherlock leaned back in the saddle & over Bach's rump as the horse plunged downward.

Bach's thick pale mane & tail alternated between streaming behind him with his speed & falling forward along his neck & side respectively with the gravity of the nearly-sheer plummet he was running down. Sherlock's head was nearly resting on Bach's rump, he was leaning so far back, using the stirrups for support. He held the reins with one hand, grabbing the back of the saddle with the other, letting Bach & gravity do the rest.

"Now you've gone & done it!" James glared as he opened the back door. He reached in for something & to John's horror, at last pulled out a rifle with a scope mounted on it.

"No, NO!" John fought with all he had. "SHERLOCK! NO!"

"Oh relax, I'm not going to kill him," James cocked the rifle & aimed. "Not yet. I'll wait until he comes down a bit more." When horse & rider were a little more than halfway down, the rifle went off.

John could only watch his friend's final minutes. Of course, James had lied about killing him. Sherlock continued riding back in the saddle. He was still alive! But his position was suddenly changing as Back went down on his front knees. The death scream of the silver stallion wrenched John's soul in two. He had never heard such an agonizing sound of despair through all his time at war.

Moriarty had shot Sherlock's prized charger through the heart. "That ought to keep him busy for a bit."

The horse rolled over & Sherlock slipped off. Both rolled down the hill; though, Bach screamed no more. He was dead before he hit the ground. The two bodies disappeared into the forest below.

"Huh," James thought a moment before saying, "Didn't think I'd manage to dispose of both Sherlock's pets." He patted John's cheek. "Bonus. Take him!" He jerked his head to the boot of the car once more. John was stuffed inside & the lid was closed on him. He soon felt the car moving. It was dark in here yet all John could see was Bach & Sherlock tumbling over each other on their way down. Could Sherlock even survive that fall? Yes. Yes he had to. He survived worse, jumping off a roof. But that was planned by him. This wasn't, Granted, Moriarty had seemed to have timed it, wanting Sherlock alive for later. That gave him hope. But for what, later? John sighed, frustrated that he could do nothing.

* * *

><p>(<em><strong>Quick Disclaimer note:<strong> _If anyone wants to actually SEE where I got Bach's run over the cliff, Youtube it. Seriously. Yes I'm a cowgirlish nerdy country gal & like the Snowy River movies. Bite me! No I don't own the 2nd Decent of SR part 2 on which Bach's plummet is based. I was planning to kill the horse off anyway. What better way to do it? Satisfied? Good. {Orgasmically I hope grrr} Moving on.)


	16. Chapter 16

**(16) The Search**

"Sherlock? John?" Mycroft called, entering the parlour. Shane stood behind him. "Strange. They landed here an hour ago."

"Perhaps they're waiting somewhere else," Shane wandered down the hall, absent-mindedly looked at random things along the way. "Not much has changed since I left."

Mycroft hurried after him, Ennie by his side. "Careful, we can't have anyone other than Sherlock & John see either of you."

"Didn't you clear the staff out already?" Shane stopped to glare.

"Yes, but one can not be to careful, can they?"

"Oh, Mike!" Shane shook his head & moved on, examining everything as they went. They walked down the length of the mansion. "I thought I'd never see this place again."

"You're not here for a home-coming, Shane," Mycroft grumbled disapprovingly, grabbing Shane's hand so as not to lose track of him.

"Shane, you lived here before?" Ennie asked, looking around in awe at the high ceilings & hardwood polished floors.

"For a bit, but I remember it like yesterday," Shane turned to walk backwards, hands out in play, the one holding Mycroft's swung his arm up a bit as if in a dance. "Hey, while Sherly-curly is out, I might as well have a look-around."

Mycroft laughed out loud. "If any of us ever call him that to his face, we'd die horribly. Never mind the British Secret Service & its nest of traitorous dogs."

"But it is a suiting pet name for him," Shane pushed on a door that led outside. "He was born with a full head of curls, you know."

"Yeah. What are you doing?"

"Checking out the grounds," Shane said. He stood in the doorway for a while, looking over the gardens, the yards & fields & finally settled on the barn. "Found them. The barn door is open. They should be there."

"Well you can't go out like that," Mycroft passed Shane the shawl that Ennie had given him. "Cover up until we get there. You too, Ennie." She pulled up her own shawl & covered her face up to her eyes.

"You worry too much," Shane teased, trying to pull the shawl over his head with one hand. Mycroft used his free hand to help. Once covered, Shane tugged Mycroft along across the grounds to the barn.

Mycroft suddenly pulled back hard, nearly wrenching Shane's arm off to make him stop. Ennie crashed into both of them from behind. Mycroft stumbled & stood up straight again. "Let me go in first."

"Adrian!" Shane whined.

"Let me go in first!" Mycroft raised his sidearm after he dropped Shane's hand & pushed past.

Shane waited a moment & then stepped inside the doorway & leaned on the frame. "OW!" He quickly stepped away, rubbing his arm. "Mike? Something isn't right, here."

Mycroft retreated back to Shane's side & inspected the doorframe. It had splinters jutting out at odd angles. "A horse didn't do that. There are scuff marks on here, probably from leather boots." He looked around. "Bach is gone. So is his riding gear. Sherlock's gone for a ride. John hates horses apparently so …he wouldn't." He looked at the ground.

"Those are drag marks," Shane said. He pulled the black silk shawl from his head to drape around his shoulders. "This way. One is being dragged by two." He hopped & stepped around the track marks, Mycroft close behind.

"They lead over there," Ennie pointed to the grove of trees.

Mycroft automatically took over again once they reached the grove. "Tyre marks. A small car has been here. There was quite a struggle put up here," he indicated part of the ground that was so beaten, it was muddied by now. His eyes darted sideways at a glint of golden light. He took a few steps over & nearly bent down to pick up the elongated object. "AHH!" Mycroft yelped, standing straight with a hand to his shot wound. "Damn it! I keep forgetting this when I'm concentrating."

"I just fixed that!" Shane complained. He bent over to pick up the object. "It's a bullet casing." He handed it over to Mycroft's waiting fingers.

"That looks like the same kind that shot me," Mycroft tucked it away. Then he froze. "That means …"

They said as one, "James Moriarty."

"John may have tried to go after him," Shane said. "Ending up getting caught."

"Yes & if James is here, you both need to make yourself scarce," Mycroft turned & was about to walk towards the house. The twist caused his side to flare up in pain again. He clutched at it with one hand.

"Adri!" Enni put out a hand to catch him. "Are you alright?"

Mycroft smiled as he said, "Now see Shane? 'Adri' is a nice nickname."

"Alright Adrian," Shane stepped in front of the other man & began undoing buttons to his shirt. "No more fast moves & no more bending over until this thing is healed." He pushed the shirt off Mycroft's shoulders & let it drop to the ground.

"But I like bending over," Mycroft said with a smirk. "It can be very pleasant you know."

"Hey there's a lady present!" Shane gestured at Ennie who turned away giggling.

"So am I! I can be a bad little bitch when I want to be," Mycroft smiled slyly. Ennie giggled harder.

Shane shook his head. "You can be so vulgar … 'Adri'!" He pulled out a roll of gauze from his pouch hanging over his right hip. "Thank God you're bisexual. Stick with the lassies for now."

"Yes oh royal pain in the arse!" Mycroft gave his hips a little thrust for emphasis as put his arms into a crucifix position. Ennie grasped a tree for support

"That isn't funny," Shane began wrapping the gauze around Mycroft's torso. "Gods, you're being such a bad example to her!" After a moment, he secured it in place. "There. Now, stop moving so much! You're lucky all you got was a big hol—shot wound. There, try to make some dirty comment out of that one." He flashed Mycroft an evil grin.

Mycroft rolled his eyes & lowered his arms. Shane handed his shirt over. Mycroft draped it over one arm. He sighed as he took one last look around. His eyes stopped on the distant hill. It looked like a trail had been blazed down the side. "What happened over there?"

Shane stood behind Mycroft & rested his chin on the other man's shoulder to see along the same line of sight. "Looks like something massive slid down that cliff."

"How massive?" Mycroft asked, somehow having an idea of what it might be.

"Do you have binoculars?"

"Inside," Mycroft started for the house again, grabbing Shane's hand to make sure he followed. Ennie didn't need half as much minding as Shane did as she was already ahead of them. Mycroft found them in the top drawer of his desk in the common room. Tossing the shirt onto the chair, Mycroft headed to the den on the side of the house facing that cliff & opened the door to outside for a better view. "There's a slick of red going down that slide," He handed the binoculars to Shane standing beside him.

Ennie picked up a picture from the desk. It had Mycroft & another man in it, both leaning against the pasture's fence. "Adri, is this … Sherlock?"

"Yeah that's him," Mycroft came to stand beside her. "That was about three & a half years ago. That black mare is Lady Saffie & the silver horse is his stallion, Bach. My gelding," he pointed to a brown spot way in the back. "Zeus & my other mare," He indicated the red-brown one. "Lady Cinni. Short for cinnamon. We went riding that day. Our last ride together. He jumped a month later."

Shane finally lowered the binoculars. "You think that's a horse?"

"I think it's what's left of Sherlock's stallion, yes," Mycroft cast Shane a sideways look of worry. "Shane, we can't lose him again. Mummy won't forgive it."

"Sherlock won't forgive us if we lose track of John," Shane said. "We'll split up."

"What? Shane no!"

"We have no choice," Shane interjected. "I've been after Moriarty a while myself. I know what I'm doing. You get Sherlock."

"I don't think this is a good idea, Shane."

"You got any better ones?" Shane retorted. "We have no choice. Take care of Sherlock."

Mycroft began calling someone. "I need the forest at the base of the mountain behind my house searched. My younger brother, Sherlock Holmes. Yes. His silver stallion to. Good. Don't come near the house though without my permission." He hung up, looking pointedly at Shane.

"Before I leave, I need access to your cameras," Shane said. "I want to see if that vehicle shows up."

"In here," Mycroft led the way.

"This should take a few minutes," Shane sat down & began tapping away at the computer.

Twenty minutes later, Mycroft's mobile started ringing. "Still nothing?" He spoke over his mobile, turning to meet Shane's gaze. "Understood." He lowered & closed the thing & shook his head.

Shane got up & enveloped Mycroft in his arms. "We'll find him."

Mycroft closed his eyes. "This can't be happening again."

"I have to go."

"What about Ennie?" Mycroft nodded to the doorway where Ennie was waiting.

"I go with Shane," she said.

"No, you can't. You don't know what you're up against."

"Adri, I'm not a child. I do know what I'm up against," Ennie defended. "Shane told me everything at the same time as you. I've gone on missions for him before. This will be no different."

Mycroft pushed Shane away to glare. "You sent her on missions before?"

"Like she said, she's no child," Shane defended. "She's been working for Sherlock to; though, neither of them knew it at the time."

"What?"

"All I knew at the time was that I would be in Canada for a bit," Ennie spread her hands. "I helped Francois Van Lune while he reconnected with someone that I know now to be Sherlock. Now I know the full story."

"My God, this can't be happening," Mycroft pressed his hands to his eyes, trying to clear his head. Shane held him close once more.

"We're all in this together," Shane released Mycroft & headed for the door. "We'll find Sherlock, Mike."

Mycroft lowered his hands to glare at Shane but he was already gone with Ennie The shawl Shane borrowed lay on the desk. "We had better." He finally put his shirt on & headed outside. He strode to the barn & entered the field with jumping hurdles laid out in a course. "Sherlock, where are you?" He started across the field.

Sherlock lay sprawled on the hard ground, one leg caught by material on a rock. He slowly opened his eyes & stared up at a grey sky through tree branches. Several branches were broken & had blood dripping off them. Sherlock closed & re-opened his eyes again. He felt around for his mobile & pulled out half of it. "You've got to be kidding me." Sherlock let his head fall back to the ground with a groan. Not only did he now have to hobble himself out of this, he had succeeded brilliantly in losing contact with Canada for the second time inside a month.

Now what?

Can't do a thing about Canada at the moment so assess immediate damage. Hands seem to be fine, obviously. Nothing appears dislocated. Move legs. Not broken but left side caught on a rock. Sit up. That hurt & made the eyes see spots. Cover face with both hands & massage the dull throbbing ache away. Reach forward to unhook leg fro—no no NO! Hurts too much. Lie down again.

"What I wouldn't give for some morphine right about now," Sherlock muttered to himself. Looking up & slightly to his left, he saw the top part of the slide. Broken trees & shrubs lay bent in complete disorder. Dirt gathered in piles on the tops of rocks jutting out. Some of it still rolled softly down. The trail was slicked with blood, too much to be his own.

Sherlock sighed heavily, instantly regretting it as it nearly broke his ribs. He tried a different approach. Hands to top of head & slowly rub himself downward. A sticky mess on one side of his head told him he was bleeding. He paused on his rub-down to tear a piece of material from his shirt, which was easy since it was torn beyond repair now anyway, to put against that wound. Using a smaller rock to hold the rag in place, Sherlock continued feeling himself over. It didn't seem like anything was broken but he definitely had more cuts & bruises on top of his older wounds. He sat up again though not as fast as the first time, holding one hand to his head to keep the pressure on the wound.

Sherlock sat there without moving for several minutes just to get used to the position. It gave time for the gash over his head to clot a bit. He then tried to unhook his leg from the rock again, working slowly towards it from a different angle. His fingers of his right hand finally caught the material & he pulled back, freeing himself at last.

"Alright, now to stand," Sherlock rolled over onto his stomach & placed his forehead on the cool ground, taking some time before moving again. Everything suddenly came flooding back to him. "John … Moriarty. Mmm!" He had to get up. "Bach?" He remembered that his horse had suddenly sagged under him as if he had tripped. But that was impossible. He had ridden down that hill many times. Bach didn't trip. "Bach!" Sherlock lifted his head & the silver stallion came into view, lying a few feet away from him. He pushed himself up & stumbled over. "Bach." One look at the horse's face told him everything. The creature was dead. His sides were shredded from sliding, turning him more into a red horse than a silver one. Strips of horseflesh had been peeled back right to the bone in some places. Sherlock noticed a bright red stain oozing from the stallion's chest. He knelt down & thrust his fingers into the wound. They soon found what he knew was in there & pulled out a long gold colored used bullet. Definitely Moriarty's rifle. He threw the casing aside, wondering just how audacious James Moriarty had become. To actually manage to enter the Holmes property, kidnap someone, nearly kill someone else by shooting the horse was a huge risk of getting caught, yet he didn't.

Mycroft was supposed to set up a meeting with someone. "Of course," Sherlock finally clued in. "Staff cleared out. John & I are the only ones here waiting. Ohhh! Perfect timing, James. Perfect, perfect timing."

Sherlock stood up again & found that he could barely put weight on the leg that had been caught on the rock. Slowly but surely, everything else started to obey his commands without much protest beyond the dull throbbing ache through out his body, but his left leg nearly killed him. He wrapped more pieces of shirt around it to soak up the blood of five or six long gashes down the calf. He stood straight once more, cracking every vertebra in his back into position again.

Next, he pulled off Bach's bridle & laid it aside. He half-dragged himself around to the belly & unhooked the girth of the saddle on the exposed side. After making it to the other side, Sherlock slid his hands under as far as possible & cut the girth off from the underside, using a small knife he had tucked in a sheath into his riding boots. He let the main saddle fall off & placed the bridle on top of it. "I'll take care of your body later, Bach. I have to get John." He scooped up the saddle & bridle in one arm & began to stagger from tree to tree towards home, using the weight of the gear to help balance himself.

It was easier said than done. Sherlock's left leg couldn't take a bit of weight without sending him to his knees. He staggered into a tree & leaned against it. Calculating his next distance, he limped forward to the next tree. Another rest. He looked ahead & could see the Holmes family mansion through the trees, not far away.

Too far away. A walk that should have been ten minutes was going to take a lot longer.

Sherlock tried moving forward again. He attempted to put more pressure on his banged leg, trying to move faster. If it weren't for the saddle, he would have fallen over backwards. Sherlock held the saddle out from his chest to regain proper balance & then pulled it close again. He rested against another tree, feeling his eyes close. He forced them open again, knowing that if he fell asleep now, he might not wake up ever again. His head was already swimming with the throbbing pain. He leg didn't help. Soft whimpers like a lost puppy escaped his throat. He had to stay awake. Stay standing.

Calculate hobbling distance bearable. Move forward. Another tree. Another rest. He was so tired all of a sudden, he could barely hold the saddle but that was his lifeline. It kept balance.

Another tree. Another rest. Sherlock pressed his forehead to the rough bark, letting a few tears escape. He had never felt this much pain before. Not even the night he came back. Granted, he was able to dose up on morphine fairly quickly back then. He had none here. Pain shot up his leg & back, telling him to lie down & die with his faithful steed. Canada & John told him to move forward.

Another painful half-crawl half-dash to the next tree. Another rest. A rest that nearly cost him his life. He was sagging to the ground. New plan. Talking out loud might help to stay awake.

"At least it can't get worse." He tried his limp-to-tree-rest-limp-again tactic once more.

The forest suddenly lit up & a few moments later a peal of thunder sounded through the clouds.

Sherlock stopped mid-limp between trees & glared upwards. "Seriously? It has to storm up now?" As if in answer, the rain suddenly came down in sheets, filling his eyes. Within seconds, he was soaked. He shivered. Not good. Gritting his teeth against the pain & cold, he moved faster anyway, trying to get home as soon as possible. "I didn't want an answer to that question at all!" He was cold more from tiredness than being soaked & that tiredness was from the loss of blood & hitting his head. Sherlock couldn't be more miserable than this even if he never got another case again.

Next stumble. Next tree.

"James Moriarty, I will kill you," Sherlock muttered against the bark. "I no longer care about the law." He only half-meant it. Talking merely to stay awake & keep going.

Sherlock continued that way for several more minutes. Time it should have been to reach home by now yet he was still in the forest. The pasture still needed to be crossed, perhaps by using the hurdles instead of trees out there in the open. He finally reached the edge of the forest about twenty minutes later.

Getting from there to the fence was next. There was a wide strip of open ground in between. Sherlock took extra time to rest before making the mad stagger to the fence. He took even more time for a break by the fence. Sherlock put the saddle on it & leaned over, hands on knees, a soft sob of pain escaping him, as blood dripped from his lips & mouth.

"Sherlock?"

He didn't move or straighten up. "Mycroft." Sherlock fell forward nearly onto the ground but he felt his brother's arms catch him.

Mycroft turned Sherlock around so they were facing each other & held him close. "What the hell happened to you?"

"Bach … fell down …. fell," Sherlock took a moment to catch his breath. "The cliff."

"With you on him?" Mycroft asked.

"Yeah, his saddle," Sherlock put one hand on the pommel. "Bridle. You can have them. You'll need a new girth." He put his head on Mycroft's shoulder & started to fall asleep at last. That's all he wanted for once.

"NO!" Mycroft held Sherlock away & shook him hard. Pain shot through Sherlock's body worse than before but at least it snapped him out of it. "Do not go to sleep yet. Let's get you inside."

"Can't sleep," Sherlock murmured, feeling himself being lifted off the ground. He was now lying across Mycroft's arms. "John … needs help."

"I know," Mycroft winced silently but his own shot wound was the last thing he was worried about.

"You don't understand," Sherlock whispered, nearly passing out again.

"I know everything," Mycroft said.

"No … you … you don't," Sherlock started to struggle. "Canada is tomorrow. I have to … I must. Put me down."

"I will as soon as I reach a bed or something close to," Mycroft said. He kicked open the front door & hurried into the common room. He lay Sherlock on the couch & knelt down beside him. "Hello? I need medical assistance now. I found him. Permission to approach house." He hung up. "Stay awake, Will."

"Hate that name," Sherlock tried his best to glare.

"Good," Mycroft snickered. "You'll love this. You know I had a nickname for you as a baby?" He twisted one curl around his right index finger. Sherlock could have sworn he saw a tear escape down Mycroft's cheek, but this was his elder brother. That was impossible. Must have been his own watery eyes against the pain. Mycroft finally whispered, "Sherly-curly."

"Hate you now."

"I know you do," Mycroft pressed one hand to Sherlock's head wound.

"Five minutes," Sherlock muttered. "Only let me sleep five minutes. No longer."

"You can sleep all you like once you're fixed up," said Mycroft. "They're coming now. Just hang on a minute longer." He stood up & moved away as his medical team & search party finally arrived.

"Adrian … is my Lambo fuelled properly?"

"No."

"Please take care of it. For John. He wants to drive it tomorrow. Let him drive it."

Mycroft felt his chest contort & he could hardly breathe. Was the almighty Sherlock Holmes that far out of it? Was he to lose his brother again, permanently this time? "I will."


	17. Chapter 17

**(17) Tricked Rescue**

When Sherlock opened his eyes again, he was lying in Mycroft's bedroom. It had been transformed into a hospital room. Looking around, Sherlock noticed he was hooked up to a steady morphine drip. After a quick smile, he looked out the window. It was the dead of night.

Date? Which day? Had he missed Canada? Depressed, he lay back on the pillow. Mycroft's computer was on standby on the desk. Sherlock wondered if he could move to get up & check the date. If it was past Sunday, at four in the afternoon, all was lost. Part of him didn't want to know.

He shifted over & received the shock of his life. Sherlock wasn't alone. Someone was half-lying on the bed in the dark. That person stirred. Sherlock blinked away the sleep still in his eyes, adjusting to the dim room as the person stood up.

"Sherlock? You're awake?"

"Mycroft," Sherlock muttered, relaxing.

"Well don't act all happy to see me," Mycroft reached over & turned on a desk lamp.

"I am," Sherlock said. "I'm fine." He wondered how to get out of this or if he was even capable of it. He couldn't ask Mycroft for the exact time & date or else he'd want to know why. No one else apart from those already involved, like John for one, knew about what was happening with Canada & as for John. Oh dear Mummy. John! James Moriarty had him. No one else knew that James was here or even alive either.

"Do you want anything?" Mycroft was asking. "Water or something to eat?"

A gun with one bullet would be useful. Sherlock stared dead ahead, thinking hard. Eat. Yes, make Mycroft cook a meal so he'll be gone a bit. What would be a long time to make? More to the point, what would Mycroft actually make with little to no staff help? Ah! A family secret recipe of course. "Turkey."

"What?"

"It's all I want & it better be how Mummy makes it!"

"Sherlock, that'll take over two hours," Mycroft pointed out. "You sure you want turkey?"

"Yes, well-stuffed, glazed wit—"

"I know how Mummy makes it," Mycroft snapped. "I'm seven years older than you."

"I want turkey!" Sherlock pouted like a child. It was so hard to trick his brother into anything but it had to work this time. Sherlock put up his best acting face.

"That means I have to make it," Mycroft grumbled. Sherlock put on his 'I'm a hurt little puppy & if you don't do what I want, I'll die horribly' look.

Mycroft cross-rolled his eyes shut for a moment. "Fine! You better eat it & not just stare at the plate like you usually do." He pointed to a button connected to a wire. "That will bring Carlotta in if you need anything for the next few hours while I'm doing that bird." Sherlock gave a single nod as Mycroft got up & left.

The moment after Mycroft was gone, Sherlock flipped the blankets off & inspected his leg. It was wrapped with several layers of gauze. Underneath, he could still feel pinpricks from where the cuts where sewn up. But was it usable? Was any part of his body useful right now? He sat up slowly, taking care of the morphine so as not to pull it out just yet. Pressing a hand to his head, he felt something over his gash there.

Feeling around his face, he felt another small band-aide below his lower lip. Both his hands & arms were wrapped lightly, covering the scrapes spread with a soothing salve. But at least nothing was broken. Sherlock then felt down his body. His chest had been wrapped as well. Not a good sign. He breathed in as deep as possible before a searing pain told him no more. Not bad then. Cracked, not broken. He can muddle through that. It was really only his banged up leg that was cause for worry. No time like the present to test it now.

Sherlock turned the drip off & pulled out the needle as he pushed himself up. He was standing. His injured leg could hold a bit now that it was wrapped, but just a bit. His head pounded in protest from moving but he ignored the headache. He looked at the computer & made a line for it, limping softly across the floor. Wiggling the mouse, the desktop appeared & he pointed to the clock. It was Sunday morning at 2.38 AM. He sat in the chair, folding his hands under his chin. Next moment, his body shook in a fit of coughing. He fought to gain his breath again & put his fingertips to chin once more. There was still time! Less than a day but still time. So long as he got out of here right now.

Then he remembered S.H. & turned back to the computer. This was Mycroft's, the best computer to be around right now. Sherlock took a few minutes longer than usual to break the password & then accessed the cameras in London around the police station. He replayed the midnight hour a few times over but there was nothing. Damn it! This person was good. If only there was time to investigate further. Sherlock closed that off & accessed the home cameras, looking instead for Moriarty's vehicle. It was nearly impossible since the cameras were turned off for that day since Mycroft had two top secret guests here. At last, Sherlock caught a piece of film a few minutes before the helicopter bearing John & he here had arrived. A little blue Cadillac had entered the property from behind. Its appearance on screen was less than twelve seconds but it did show the license plate. Barely. Sherlock made a note of it & headed back to bed.

Carlotta came into the room. She saw Sherlock lying in bed, eyes closed, with the morphine constantly dripping as if in rhythm. "Um Mister Holmes?"

Sherlock opened his eyes. He hadn't been sleeping at all. "Oh, is 'Carlotta' the name you're going by now, Bernadette?"

"Anthea, actually," She said.

"Do you even have an actual name?" Sherlock griped

"What do you want?" Anthea ignored the question.

"I'm glad it's you," Sherlock said sincerely. "You'll understand. I want to know if Mycroft took care of my Lambo liked I asked him. Is it road-worthy yet?"

"He took care of it," Anthea said. "but you're not going anywhere for a few weeks."

"Oh I know," Sherlock said. "It's just, well you see," A few (crocodile) tears suddenly appeared. "I promised John he could drive it. I want it to be ready for when John comes home. Are you sure it's ready for him?"

"It's set to go." 

"That's nice," Sherlock gasped, coughing for real but it worked brilliantly with his little scene. "That's, that's really nice. I uh, I'm not well. I think I'll go back to sleep. Let me know when John comes home ok?"

"I will," Anthea smiled.

"One more thing," Sherlock suddenly thought of something. "Could you put a wire in it? So he can record his first time driving it." Anthea nodded but said nothing as she left.

Thoroughly pleased with himself, Sherlock lay back. He would wait about fifteen minutes to give the girl time & then drive away in the Lambo. He would find John & then meet the cruise liner on Sunday at four in the afternoon just as planned. 

Looking around, Sherlock saw a set of clothes spread out for him over a chair for whenever he had strength to get up. He knew his overcoat was downstairs. Someone from the helicopter had put it away for him. He had to get to that coat. The key to the Lambo rested at the bottom of its left pocket.

Strength or no strength, he had to get John & get to the ship. Sherlock was the only one who knew exactly what was going on. He got up again. Thanks to his injured leg, Sherlock had to move slowly across the floor. Once fully dressed, he took his time, making no sound until he reached the stairs. Stepping on one level down nearly killed him. Sherlock stood again at the top. Great. There was no way down with this bashed up leg at all. He looked at the railing. Or perhaps there was.

Sherlock landed easily enough on his good leg & turned around. He saw his long black coat hanging up on a coat rack by the door. He fished around in the left pocket for the Lambo's key.

"What in blue blazes are you doing?" Mycroft's voice sounded from behind.

Sherlock's hands had been up in front of him at the moment. He stuffed the key into his mouth & shoved it behind the teeth into his cheek. It lay flat but cold. He took a second to get used to it before facing his brother. "I wanted my coat."

"Going somewhere?" Mycroft asked oh-so-sweetly. He wasn't fooled.

"I'm a bit cold, I wanted my coat," Sherlock repeated. "How's that turkey coming along?"

"Don't lie to me & don't change the subject," Mycroft glared at him.

"It isn't a lie. I wanted my coat!" Sherlock insisted. It was kind of true. He did want the coat, for the key of course.

"Well you got it. Go back to bed."

"Fine." Sherlock staggered to the stairs to prove himself. "I can't get up."

"How'd you get down?" Mycroft asked sardonically. Sherlock patted the railing. "What are you doing Sherlock? Seriously, tell me what you're doing?"

"Just getting my coat."

"Sherlock."

"I'm just—I'm not at liberty to say. I needed my coat."

"Not at liberty to say?"

"No."

"I knew James Moriarty before you did & you say you're not at liberty to say," Mycroft stated flatly, getting right to the point.

Sherlock swayed in his place. He regained composure & asked, "What does Jim have to d—"

"Oh come on Sherlock!" Mycroft shouted at him. "I know everything. James has John. Shane & Ennie are gone after him."

"Mycroft," Sherlock warned but was either not heard or ignored. Probably ignored.

"I even know what you got yourself up to in Canada."

"Mycroft!"

"I know what it is you're bringing here. You're—"

"Adrian Mycroft Scott Holmes!" By this time, Sherlock had managed to recover the space between them. He put a hand on his brother's throat. "Not another word. Not one more word about it except, who told you? John? He wouldn't do that."

"Shane."

"Who is that?" Sherlock demanded.

"Shane has been watching over you for a long time," Mycroft put a hand over his brother's & pulled it away from his throat.

"Tell me," Sherlock had the 'Moriarty glare' as he took one step away.

"Your guardian," Mycroft said. "He's been after James as well. I can't say more about him here with everyone back home. You & John were supposed to meet him & Ennie but Moriarty was here."

"I know he was," Sherlock said. "He killed Bach. If you truly know what's going on, then you must understand; I have to be at that ship by four in the afternoon today. You must let me go!"

"Shane knows about her to," Mycroft said, instantly regretting it. Sherlock stumbled back another step or two, looking crushed. Had that stone he had for a heart finally broke? "Sherlock, it's ok."

"How could this Shane of yours possibly know about that ship?"

Mycroft hesitated before answering. "Sherlock, there are things in this family you don't know. We've been living a lie but it's to keep everyone alive."

"This family?" Sherlock repeated. "Ah I get it. Of course. He's a lover of yours. You two worked it all out behind my back, didn't you?"

"No we didn't," Mycroft defended. "He's not my—"

"I know you're bisexual!" Sherlock shot back. "You don't have to defend yourself against me. I don't care if you had relations with a cactus if that's your thing."

"Sherlock!" Mycroft gently pinched his injured nose between his fingers. "Look, I know everything. In fact, I know something you don't."

"Oh & what is that?"

"I'm not at liberty to say," Mycroft stole the words. He stepped up to his brother despite the glaring. He took Sherlock's shoulders in his hands.

Sherlock pulled away roughly. "You're just trying to irritate me & believe me, it's working."

"Go back to bed, little one," Mycroft whispered.

"I'm not a child. Don't talk to me like I'm four!" Sherlock crossed his arms & leaned slightly on his better side.

"Sherlock."

Sherlock lifted one hand towards the stairs. "I'm not going back up there to bed right now & I'm not telling you anything more because I can't. So you can just forget it!"

"Why do you hate me so much?" Mycroft suddenly asked.

"I don't… Mycroft, I don't hate you," Sherlock said. "I just don't really care. I can't talk about some things right now is all. I'm just not at liberty to say."

"You don't care?" Mycroft bit his lip to keep it from trembling. "You don't have a clue what I'm doing for this family. You're all I have left. Do you have any idea of the stress I'm under? Don't you dare tell me you don't care."

"This family?" Sherlock glared at him. "It's just you & I. You haven't really taken care of me like a proper older brother should. So, why should I care?"

"Damn you!" Mycroft grabbed Sherlock by the arm & dragged him closer. "You have no idea—NO idea, you hear me? About this family & I'm sorry but I had to keep it that way until now to keep everyone safe. We Holmes have been through so much. Thank God you were too young to remember."

"So we both have secrets," Sherlock cut in. "Ah now, that isn't fair. You know all of mine yet I know none of yours."

"I was going to tell you & John everything yesterday."

"GOING to?"

"James Moriarty kind of ruined that."

"How convenient. Did you plan it?"

"Sherlock how can you ask me that?"

"Wouldn't be the first time you betrayed 'this family' to that man."

"I didn't even know he was alive until Shane told me."

"Ah yes. Dear sweet Shane. Again. Is this another criminal you're hanging out with? Like what happened with James Moriarty? Must I always watch my back with you around?"

"Wow! Shane was not kidding. You really do hate me! You don't even realise it."

"I don't hate you, Adrian! I just," Sherlock began but Mycroft finished with him. "Don't care."

"Shane is one of us. You don't have to worry about him."

"I'll be the judge of that."

"Sherlock, Shane is not someone like Moriarty! He's—" Mycroft almost told him everything right then & there, despite not being quite alone. He nearly did but another attack of coughing nearly sent Sherlock to his knees. "You got chilled out there. Sherlock, you must rest. We've lost enough Holmes. We can't lose any more." He herded Sherlock into the common room & forced him onto the couch.

"What … what do—" Sherlock was cut off by his own coughing.

Mycroft's phone began chiming as Sherlock's coughs subsided. He checked the number before answering, hoping it was someone he didn't need to talk to right now. No such luck. "You rest. I'll get some of my guards to take you back upstairs. You will go to bed Sherlock even if I have to shackle you in place."

"John would like that." 

Mycroft gave him an annoyed look as he stood up & opened his mobile. He walked away to talk. Sherlock sat on the couch, listening & glancing towards the hall. Alright, so Mycroft knew about Moriarty & Canada. It didn't matter. Without the codes, no one had access to the package on that ship. He was the only one who knew the security codes.

"Then we have no choice," Mycroft was saying as he stared out the window. "Evacuate the Tube by the Thames. Yes. If you can't get to them, remove everyone."

Sherlock stood up. Mycroft was caught in a long conversation it seemed. It was now or never. He slipped away at last. Once in the garage, he pulled the key out of his mouth & headed for the Lambo. "Berna—Anthea. What are you doing here?"

"You had me right up until you asked for a wire," Anthea said. "I know you're going after John."

"You can't come."

"Wasn't planning to," Anthea stepped up to him. "Take off your shirt." She held up a wire.

"Your lifelong goal," Sherlock grumbled, doing as he was told.

Anthea taped the wire to him, & fed it down his chest to the little recorder in his pocket. She took her time, letting her fingers slide over his flesh. When she put her hand in his pocket to attach the wire, she pushed in a bit more than she had to while meeting his gaze. 

"Anthea, save your seductions for John."

"Don't tell me you didn't enjoy it," Anthea purred. "You better take care of this body of yours. You're going to get a few scars for sure." At that, she smacked his arse & walked away, swaying her hips far more than natural. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Understood," Mycroft finally closed the conversation. He turned for Sherlock. "Great. Where has he gone off to now?" He took a few steps & then got his answer.

The mansion shuddered as if an earthquake struck. There was a screech of tyre on pavement.

"SHERLOCK!" Mycroft whirled around to the large bay window only to see two blue flames spurting out in the distance as Sherlock sped away in his Lambo Gallardo. "AVERY! SIMONE!" He called. The two guards in question soon appeared. "Get my brother back .You bring him back now! Go after him. Use whatever force necessary short of killing him! Bring him back right now!"

"Yes sir!" The two of them said.

"Even if you do find him dead," Mycroft said in a lower voice. "Bring him home!"

"Yes sir!" They said again & disappeared.

"Find him please," Mycroft said to himself before calling out, "Sandy? Get me the control on the line."

"Yes sir."

"I'll send every chopper at him if I have to."

"Yes sir."

"And send Charles & Xavier to the forest. We should take care of Bach."

"Yes sir." She was about to leave.

"Oh & Sandy?"

"Yes sir?"

Mycroft rubbed his temples. "Get me the strongest medication in the house, short of knocking me out. I have the biggest stress headache right about now."

"Yes sir," Sandy sighed tiredly as she finally got away. She came right back. "Sir? Something's on fire in the kitchen."

"DAMN IT!" Mycroft marched to the kitchen. "Medication. NOW!"

"Yes sir."

"And the fire extinguisher. I never know where it's kept."

Sandy's shoulders sagged as she hurried off once more. "Yes sir."


	18. Chapter 18

**TWO QUICK NOTES:**

**(1) Ch: 17 correction: (Man, I can NOT catch a break with this chapter!) Mycroft's second maid is named SANDY not Sally. There is already a Sally in the series (Miss Donovan) we don't need another one. This SANDY is in fact the same maid John met previously when rescuing Mycroft, in Ch: 8 (What? I write this stuff at 2 in the morning, bite me.) ANYway, Ch: 17 is now corrected & re-uploaded for the 7th time (Don't ask why it's the 7****th**** round…just don't. Like I said, can't catch a break with this one grrrr "officially HATES chapter 17")**

**(2) It is beyond fortune that I gave Sherlock the neon-green Lambo G. I was originally going to give him either the yellow or blue one. (Actually I was going to use the Aventador but that only had one flame. Then I saw the Gallardo with two flames & switched to that. Why am I telling yalls this? A joke about it is coming up.) Whilst researching (What? I watch Top Gear which coincidently aired with Sherlock on the same channel … bite my boyfriend. He's the one who got me into cars/Top Gear.) around for Moriarty's REAL car, I found this:**

_A yellow Gallardo was used as a police car for the metro police in London; one in 2005 & one in 2006 for certain publicity events._

_Blue one used in the Italian state police force._

_Silvery grey/white used on the national police panama._

**So yeah, glad I went with green so Sherlock wouldn't be mistaken for some random cop LMAO**

**Right. ANYway, on with the show!**

* * *

><p><strong>(18) Choice<strong>

The Lamborghini Gallardo swept around wide curves & zoomed down straight roads. Its blue flames lit up on occasion behind. Sherlock had no clue where Moriarty would be but it didn't matter. Everyone would eventually end up at the docks so that's where Sherlock planned to meet him. His only hope that if things didn't go well, Molly at least, was on board & would disappear with Canada.

He suddenly brought the Lambo to a halt & parked on the side of the road. There was a blue Cadillac crashed into the ditch. Checking the plate, Sherlock knew it was Moriarty's. It made no sense. Why would anyone literally ditch a perfectly good car particularly in a middle of a kidnapping? It had stopped raining a while ago so he got out & shone a flashlight around in the dark & soon discovered other tyre tracks in the fresh mud pulling away onto the road. Of course. Just in case he had been compromised, James had a second car ready. The tracks seemed to be going in the same direction. Sherlock opened the driver's side of the Cadillac to look around first.

There wasn't much. A single gold-colored bullet from the rifle was in a cup holder. Sherlock pocketed that & opened the glove compartment. Inside was a map & a pack of cigarettes. After a quick glance around, Sherlock stowed the pack away as well. "Why thank you James," he muttered derisively. He pulled out & checked the back seat. A few loose coins that made up a quid or two was all he found.

Next Sherlock checked the boot & immediately gave himself a mental kick for not checking it first. A note was lying folded inside. He picked it up & opened it. A picture was inside. "Molly? How could you have Molly?" The note said it all.

_You can't save everyone. Choose. Them. Or the ship_. _I will kill whichever you don't choose. You have until 4.00PM. You will decide by then or else, both they & the ship are history. _

_London Aquatics Center_

_J.M._

The picture was of John & Molly tied together.

"The ship …. The ship." Sherlock whispered to himself over & over. "Ohhh if you're attacking the ship … you still don't have her." He returned to his Lambo & touched chin to fingertips. Mind palace. He took out a cigarette & lit it, letting the smoke drift outside the window to mix with the scent of the rain from earlier. After one puff, he started coughing again. His head began to feel light & he was dizzy. He pressed his forehead to the coolness of the steering wheel, waiting for it to pass. It felt like a thousand knives when he swallowed. Sherlock put one hand to his pounding forehead & rubbed in little circles. It was Moriarty's fault he had fallen ill. The rain had chilled him down to the bone. Sherlock fought it off. It was just a head cold & they lasted between twenty-four to forty-eight hours at most. He had to get through this day. Just get through it & then he can pamper Mycroft to his brother's delight by lying in bed as long as was required. But not this day! Once the coughing had subsided again, he finished the cigarette, put it out in the ashtray he had stowed away between seats, pressed a button to send the window up & put the Lambo into drive once more.

The road followed the Thames. Sherlock stuck to it, heading for Moriarty. If that man thought he'd go after the ship instead, he had another thing coming. Going for John & Molly would surprise him, especially this early in the morning. It was by now only four. Had he listened to Mycroft, Sherlock would not have had time to save John, or Molly for that matter, & would have gone straight for the ship. As it was, time was perfectly on his side. He'll see that look of surprise on James Moriarty's face yet when he finally shot him through the head.

"So how do you like it?" James crouched down on his toes to meet John in the eye. "Not the same one but, well, you get the idea."

"What are you talking about?" Molly asked as she sat on the hard floor nearly back-to-back with John.

"Last time I saw this man," John explained. "we were at a pool, but much much smaller."

"Ah yes," James stood up. "Did you know they're holding the summer Olympics of 2012 here?"

"Fantastic!" John muttered mordantly.

"Aww poor war doctor. Not happy with it? I thought you'd like it," James cooed, stroking one index finger down John's cheek. With a vicious snarl, John clamped his teeth down. James yelped & wrenched himself back. "Whew! I like them feisty."

"Why don't you try it?" John dared.

"Maybe I will, later," James stood up straight. "It's a long wait to four in the afternoon. I might need some entertainment in the meantime."

"Like what you let your men do to Sherlock?" John spat.

"They enjoyed him thoroughly," James smiled. "Shall I tell you what happened?"

"I already know."

"They claimed him two at a time," James went on, ignoring the interruption. "He fought back, bit them but that only made my boys even more frantic for his attentions."

"Shut up!"

"Personally," James didn't shut up. "I think Sherlock enjoyed it. He's quite into the rougher side of sex."

"Where you there enjoying him to, then?" John glowered.

"Not that time no," James admitted.

"Then how would you know what kind of play he likes?"

"The kind of company he kept while running around destroying my life."

"HA!" John scoffed.

James grabbed John by the hair & wrenched his head back. "Be careful love! You have no idea what I can do to you. Especially since you're tied up with Molly. I've been with Molly once or twice."

"Don't remind me," Molly muttered under breath.

"She can give you details on what I can do."

"Take me now! Right now!" John glared. "I'll enjoy you thoroughly."

"I bet you would."

"I'll make you hurt a hundred times more than what happened to Sherlock," John hissed. "Mark my words. Untie me—undress me—now & I'll prove it. A rape for a rape!"

"Since I'd be willing, it wouldn't be rape now would it?" James started to walk away, calling over his shoulder, "Get some sleep. As I said, it's a long wait for that ship." He entered a glass side door leading into a small room for lifeguards & medical supplies. He made himself comfortable on the couch. There were two men watching over John & Molly who were tied to each other with a ladder-rung in between of one of the diving boards of the 25-meter pool. The guards themselves stood a ways closer to one of the two 50-meter swimming pools so John & Molly could talk in whispers.

Molly asked, "So that's what happened when Sherlock came back?"

"Yep." John tried to sit more comfortable but being tied hand to rung to hand from behind with Molly made it hard. "So how'd you get here? I thought you were supposed to meet that ship somewhere else?"

"Jim was waiting for me," said Molly. "He timed it so well to. Only after I let Sherlock know I was going on board did James grab me."

"You mean that Sherlock thinks you're on that ship with his package when in fact you're here?"

"Yeah," Molly said. "Unless he finds that Cadillac with our picture in it."

"He won't," John sighed, letting his head fall back to touch Molly's head.

"Why not?"

"You know he had a horse?"

"Silver stallion, Bach."

"He's dead," John explained the situation.

"Are you telling me, that Sherlock could be lying dead in the forest somewhere & no one is going to meet that ship?"

"I have every intention of getting to that ship, Molly."

"So what if you do?" Molly asked. "I don't have the same codes for the final destination as the ones that would have let me inside. Each destination has a different code & I missed mine no thanks to him!" She glared in the direction of James. "Don't have the codes. You won't get in."

"I have them," said John. "Any ideas how to get out of this one?"

"Well uh," Molly wondered how John could have the codes. Sherlock had said that only he & Francois had all of them. But here was certainly not the place to discuss that little fact. "Not really, no."

"Why didn't I go riding with him?" John asked himself aloud. "He wanted me to ride horses. I should have gone. Bach wouldn't be dead. Maybe not Sherlock either."

"Ok John, we're not playing that game," Molly ordered. "Let's just try to figure out a way out of here. Can you feel the rung between us? Maybe find a bolt we can unscrew so we can slide off it."

"We can't do anything while he's watching us," John glanced across the pool. James was still lying across the couch, arm over his eyes, ankles crossed over one edge. "Give him a few minutes to doze off, then we'll try."

They sat in silence for a while, watching James. The two guards had moved to stand in between the diving pool & one of the larger ones. John was about to speak to Molly but a red dot appeared on the back of the heads of both guards. They went to their knees & fell over. One slipped off the edge to float in the water of the farthest 50-meter pool.

"Who did that?" Molly asked.

John could only stare in surprise. "Sherlock." He finally breathed.

Hardly had he said so when a tall figure dropped silently from above. He landed in a crouch, black coat spread open behind & around him. He stood up, his coat slipping off.

"Uh John? That isn't Sherlock."

John sat back against Molly. "Shane."

"Who?"

"I have no idea," said John. "He apparently lives in the flat above 221B."

Shane aimed his rifle over the water at the glass & fired. The glass shattered.

"WHOA!" James screeched, sitting up fast & continued to move forward in a roll head over heels off the end of the couch. Shane's rifle went off again as James ducked behind the couch. "You missed!" James stood up, a pistol in each hand & fired both of them at once. Shane dropped his rifle on the side & dived into the water under the body to escape.

Another figure came in sight. A young woman covered even over her face with a silk shawl. The word Gypsy flashed through John's mind. She took up Shane's rifle in one smooth movement & aimed for James but couldn't find him. Shane resurfaced more than halfway up the pool. "Ennie, one of those guards has the key. Release those two. Leave Moriarty to me." Shane climbed out of the pool & ran into James's room. Without a word, Ennie bent to her task of finding a key, laying the rifle aside. The key was on the floater. She fished it out of the soaked pocket & ran to John & Molly.

Shane soon re-appeared & headed towards Ennie. "He's hiding somewhere. Hurry!"

"Who are you?" John asked the woman. He could see her eyes well & she looked somehow familiar.

"A friend," She caught his eyes for a moment, unlocking him & then Molly.

"John?"

John, Molly & Ennie looked around.

"Now THAT'S Sherlock," Molly stated. "He's ok!"

"No. No he isn't," John watched as Sherlock stepped into view. The 'hiding-the-limp' trick was far too obvious besides the fact that John thought he had never seen anyone more ill in the war camps than Sherlock Holmes at that moment. "What are you doing here?"

"Rescuing you," Sherlock replied unequivocally, holding his gun ahead of him with both hands.

"Shane & Ennie are doing that."

Sherlock stopped walking towards them. "They're here?"

The woman stood up, pulled her shawl down & turned. "Hello Sherlock."

"Who are you?" Sherlock demanded, taking a threatening step forwards, aiming for her head.

"My God! Clarrise!" John gasped. What the hell was going on?

"I'll explain later," Ennie said. "We don't have time right n—" Her eyes went wide. She cast a soft smile at Sherlock, then her face went blank. She fell down.

"Ennie?" Shane gasped. "Enola!" He ran forward & turned her on her back. "No no no! God no! Enola please!" He held her close, kneeling beside her.

"Oh, I'm so sorry about your girlfriend," James said, clearly not sorry at all.

"She's not my girlfriend!" Shane shouted back between sobs. "She's my baby sister! She's my sister." He lay her down again, resting his face on her breast.

"Whatever," James stepped into view holding both pistols, one aimed at John & one aimed at Sherlock, who lowered his own gun to his side. "Any body move, you two die." He waited for Shane's sobs to quieten a bit before going on. "So you chose your friends did you? Suit yourself."

"I have plenty of time to get to the ship," Sherlock pointed out. "Ah, you weren't expecting me to show up so early in the morning did you? In fact, you weren't expecting me at all."

"You look terrible, Sherlock," James derided.

"Whose fault is that?" Sherlock lifted his chin a little, glaring at him.

"Whoops!" James smiled. He glanced down at Shane as he took a few steps closer. "Pretty girl. What a waste. You should have left well enough alone, Shane."

"I'm here to protect Sherlock against monsters like you!" Shane stood up at last. Ennie lay by his feet, her blood spreading out & dripping over the edge into the pool.

"Oh. Oh? A monster am I?" James pouted. "You're the one who brought your baby sister here. Should have left her at home. I would have. You're fault she's dead."

"So what now?" John asked. "You have all of us here."

"I want the codes."

"I knew it," Sherlock muttered. "You never planned to destroy the ship."

"Oh no, I did," James said. "You see, I thought you'd come around closer to four & possibly choose the ship. I had every intention of destroying it if either you were on board, or didn't show up at all. As it is, we have time like you said. I want the codes. I'll get your precious cargo. Then I'll destroy the ship anyway."

Sherlock actually hung his head, staring at the puddle of red around the dead woman. "Thanks to you killing Bach, my mobile is destroyed. I don't have them." He left out the fact that he memorised them. "None of us can get on that ship. She'll go back to Canada & since Molly is here … James Moriarty! You have succeeded in destroying my life. I hope you're happy."

John felt weak in the knees. Was he truly the only one who could access that ship? He smiled to himself for his own brilliance in keeping a copy of the attachment Francois had given him to forward to Sherlock.

"What's this? The Great Sherlock Holmes giving up?" James teased. "How disappointing."

"Yes, you win," Sherlock looked up at him. Molly & Shane watched Sherlock in surprised but John wasn't fooled. Ohhh, that man was way ahead of everyone. Again.

"So this is it then," James said. "I kill you now."

"Go right ahead!" Sherlock stepped back, arms wide. John stared at him, wondering just exactly what the plan was.

"You tricked me before," James said. "I'm not falling for this again."

"You're the one who tricked everyone," Sherlock raised a brow for a moment. "You cheated on your own game. Shake my hand, you die. That was the rule. James, you shook my hand on that rooftop. You're not dead."

"I created the game, I can change the rules to suit me as I wish."

"I get how you survived shooting your own head off," Sherlock went on. "Your gun was real & loaded but rigged so it wouldn't fire when you pulled the trigger. The shot sound was a recording, wasn't it?" James nodded & Sherlock went on. "Shot in the dark that, but I guessed correctly as usual. You probably swallowed something to make yourself look dead with glazed eyes. As to the blood, that one was tricky. You fell just right on a sharp edge you had placed there for that precise moment, literally injuring yourself. Enough to knock you out perhaps but apparently not kill you. For that moment, just that one moment, I truly thought you were dead."

"Brilliant as ever!" James said with a smile. "I'd applaud you but, ya know …" He waved his two pistols around. "So while you thought I was dead, you had no choice but to jump but I'm no fool. If I could cheat, so could you." He laid one pistol on the ground & moved the other from John to Sherlock. He pulled out a mobile from his pocket. Sherlock recognised it to be John's. "You may not have the codes, Sherlock, but I think your lover does." He tapped on the mobile & then handed it to Shane. "Show that to him." Shane glared at James.

"It's alright," Sherlock said. "Bring it here. Are you Shane?"

Shane got up, snatched the mobile from James & stepped backwards until he reached Sherlock's side. "Yes." He handed over the mobile.

"I was supposed to meet you yesterday," Sherlock took the mobile. "Mycroft insisted it was urgent. I usually don't keep track of all his lovers though."

"I'm not."

"Oh there's no need to hide. I don't care," Sherlock gave him a look & then glanced at the mobile. It was password protected. John never locked his phone before.

'I AM—LOCKED'

Sherlock glanced up at John who quickly looked downward. He had locked it using Irene's old password. Sherlock focused on James again. "It's locked. So what? A lot of people lock their mobiles." He tossed it back, sharing another quick glance with John while James caught the mobile. John merely flicked his eyebrows.

"You should be able to break it," James said. "This is John we're talking about. Why would he lock his mobile unless he has something to hide? I know it wasn't locked a while ago but getting into the good doctor's mobile is only a matter of time. I nearly had access to it, as I had access to yours once I finally broke through your passwords. But then this went up."

"John obviously has some porn on there he doesn't want me to see," Sherlock shrugged. John pinched his nose, closing his eyes.

"I want that password!" James pointed the gun at John. "Or he dies."

Sherlock glanced at John again who shook his head. John then locked eyes with Shane & then looked down at the rifle near Shane's feet. He looked up at Shane again, indicating the rifle as he said, "James, there's something you should know."

"What's that?"

"That isn't my mobile," John said.

"We took it off you."

"Yeah, but it isn't mine." John went on. Sherlock looked confused. That most certainly was John's mobile. "It belongs to a friend of mine who left it at the flat. I merely wanted to return it to her. Mine's down my trousers."

James stared at him, holding the mobile in one hand & the gun in the other. "Show me."

"I guess I don't have much choice in the matter," John shook his hips a bit & something slipped down his left-pant leg to land on the toe of his boot. It was a mobile that Sherlock knew was not John's at all. James tossed the mobile in his hand aside, watching the one on John's boot. Both John & Sherlock made a mental note as to where John's true mobile landed. At the base of another diving board.

"Well that would explain things," James took a step forward. "If you went & changed your mobile like what Sherlock did."

"Now Shane!" John kicked hard, sending the mobile into James's face. He barely managed to catch it. Like a panther Shane was on all fours, both hands wrapped around his rifle. He picked it up. James dropped the second mobile & jumped out of the way just in time.

James ducked behind the ladder of the farthest diving board as Shane fired again. The bullet hit the rungs & ricocheted away.

John & Molly moved forward to join the fray. James fired his pistol, taking Molly in the arm. She yelped, clutching the wound. James turned & ran through a side door & into the hall.

"I'll go after him," Sherlock stepped forward. "One of you take Molly home."

"Sherlock," John stood in his way. "You should go home to." He picked up his mobile.

"I can't believe you'd use Irene's old password," Sherlock whispered.

"I remember you mentioning it to me once," John smiled. He stood nose-to-nose with Sherlock. "I'll get to the ship."

"John."

"I'm not taking no for an answer," John said. "You're hurt & you're ill. Sherlock, let me do this. It'll be ok. We'll be fine."

Sherlock held John's face in his hands. "You go to that ship."

"Yes," John said. "Yes I will. Don't worry."

Sherlock stepped away. "I'll meet you there."

"What? No!" John protested, grabbing Sherlock by the collar to hold him. "No Sherlock. Go home now." He kissed him. "Please. We'll handle it from here."

"James Moriarty is my problem," Sherlock said. "I'll keep him busy while you get to that ship."

"Sherlock."

Sherlock slid his arms around John's waist & pulled him in. He could feel every curve of the war doctor, from the slight muscle in his chest right down to warmer things. He sucked in a breath, pulled John's head back with his hair & returned a kiss. "I've been waiting for this day for a very long time," Sherlock said as he stepped back. "I will not lie around in Mycroft's bed letting this day pass me by. I'll go home when this day is done."

"You had better," John gave up.

"My condolences about your sister," Sherlock nodded to Shane. "I'll deal with James. Molly needs medical attention & John, well he knows where to go."

"Sherlock!" Shane stepped forward.

"Let him go," John said. Sherlock nodded to both of them & headed out the door after James.

"I can't," Shane made to follow Sherlock but John stood in his way & spread his arms.

"Let him go! You have no idea how stubborn he can be."

Shane stood a head taller than Sherlock so he towered over the soldier. He put a hand on John's chest & pushed him backwards. "On the contrary, I know exactly how stubborn he is. Stay out of this Watson! You have no idea who I am."

"You're right, I don't," John agreed. "Which is exactly why I'm not letting you near Sherlock if I can help it."

"Such a dedicated lover," Shane said. "I'm glad Sherlock found you." He struck hard & fast, hitting John across the face with a backhand slap. John yelped & went down hard. Shane stepped over him & ran after Sherlock.

"John!" Molly screamed, running over to help him up with her good arm. "Who is that man?"

"Someone who is in a lot of trouble," John glared. "NO ONE hits me in the face!"

Molly glanced down at the woman. "Do you know who she is?"

"Clarisse Van Lune," John said. "Francois' daughter but—oh, I'm missing something. It doesn't make sense."

"What doesn't?"

"I'm not quite sure," John said. "I'll let you know when I figure it out."

"I didn't know Francois had a daughter," said Molly. "or a son for that matter. But I did meet him only three or four times."

"Let me fix that," John turned to Molly's wound. He wrapped it up as best possible, using the First Aid Kit belonging to the poolroom.

"Shane called her something other than Clarisse," said Molly, trying to focus on something other than John's prodding at her wound. "Neither of them seem French."

"They're not," John said. "They're French-Canadienne. Big difference. Trust me."

"I know about that," Molly laughed. "Shane's going after Sherlock. What are we going to do?"

"I have no idea," John finished & put the Kit away. "I do know that I have to get to the ship."

Molly picked up the other pistol that James had left on the floor. "Then I'll go after Shane."

"You will not!"

"I will to!"

"No, you won't!"

"You got a better idea? Didn't think so! Go to the docks, John. Go to Sheba!" Molly turned on her heel.

"You don't even know how to fire that thing." John pointed out in triumph.

Molly turned back & aimed at a life ring hung on the opposite wall. She fired. It popped & hissed as air escaped. "Sherlock's been giving me lessons."

John rolled his eyes. "I don't think Shane will hurt Sherlock. Besides," he nodded to Clarisse lying dead in her own blood. "After what James did to her, Sherlock will be the last thing on Shane's mind. You go home & I'll go to the ship. I'll bring Sherlock home."

"You had better!"

John held her face in his hands & swept back a stray lock of hair over her eyes. "Go! Don't worry about Shane. I'm pretty sure he's on our side. If I can only figure out his obsession with Sherlock, I'll be happy."

"Keep an eye out for him."

"I will. Go!"

* * *

><p>(One last final note: I have James still alive for two reasons: at the time I started this, it was still unclear if he'd be back for a last round or not. It was only until later that Andrew Scott said he probably won't be back but I was already well into this. I wrote about half of it on my laptop before I started posting a few chapters at a time. (2) I kind of wanted a turned at writing this character anyway. Don't worry I know he dies in the books...&amp; the series; he'll get what's coming to him here soon enough.)<p> 


	19. Chapter 19

**(19) River Thames**

The dawn light came streaming in through the large bay windows. Mycroft blinked the hurt from his eyes, grumbling about the sun waking him up. More awake now, he figured out that it wasn't the sun but his mobile that was the culprit. He answered it.

Sandy passed Anthea as she headed down the hall to the common room where Mycroft was, bringing the morning tea.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Sandy dropped the tea tray as Anthea ran to her side. "Was that Master Holmes?" Anthea asked. She grabbed Sandy's hand & together they ran to Mycroft's side.

Mycroft was sitting lopsided in an armchair, almost as if he had collapsed onto it, face in one hand. His mobile lay on the floor where he had dropped it.

"Master Holmes?" Anthea asked, stepping forward to pick up the mobile & hand it to him. Mycroft looked up at her but ignored the mobile. He had been crying. Mycroft & crying didn't usually go together. Unless? Anthea dropped the mobile. "...Sherlock…?" Sandy put a hand on the other girl's shoulder.

"No," Mycroft whispered. "No not Sherlock. Not yet!" He scoffed, sitting forward rubbing his face with both hands. "Oh how I feared this day would come."

"Sir?" Sandy asked.

Mycroft said nothing. He turned on the TV & flipped through the channels until the news flashed by. He flipped back to watch. London Aquatics Center was the topic. There had been three murders. Two men, possibly guards, & a woman. "I know her." Sandy & Anthea shared a look. Mycroft kept a string of lovers, men & women, going but they didn't realise he'd get quite that attached to any of them. Perhaps that girl was his favourite? "She's my baby sister, Enola."

"WHAT?" the two women stared at him.

"I can't say more without endangering others," Mycroft said. "But she's dead. No point in hiding her any more. Besides, I have to go claim her later."

"Sir, we know Mister Holmes is your baby brother," Sandy went on. Mister was Sherlock. Master was Mycroft. "We never knew about a Lady Holmes?"

"I couldn't speak of her before now," Mycroft explained. "She's three years younger than Sherlock. He doesn't even know about her. Never met her. Oh God no!" He closed his eyes, barely listening to the TV & sighed heavily.

Anthea wiped tears from her face, only replacing them with more. Sandy tried to ask as evenly as possible, "Can I get you anything, Sir?" but broke down halfway through. The staff were quite attached to the Holmes family; by the hip in Anthea's case sometimes. To find out that there had been a Holmes out there not subject to their care was devastating. Seeing their Master ripped apart was even worse.

"Mm, mm," Mycroft shook his head a little, steepling his fingers over his injured nose. "No. I'm just waiting for another call like that. For Sherlock."

"Don't say that," Anthea whispered, not intending for Mycroft to hear.

"I know where he's headed, Carlotta," Mycroft said, turning off the TV right at the moment it showed three covered bodies being loaded by gurney into a truck. He couldn't bear to watch that. Not for her. "He's headed right into it. My only hope is that any of my guards catch him in time."

Both Anthea & Sandy wanted desperately to ask what 'it' was, but knew better. Mycroft was of the British Secret Service & 75% of their questions they would like to ask could not be answered. Granted, being Holmes staff meant that they were more privy to things they otherwise would have known nothing about. But not once had any one of them spilled any secrets. There weren't that many, but those who did work on the Holmes Estate were among the best. Reliable & trustworthy, plus the salary they made was the stuff of dreams.

"Call us if you need anything," Sandy put a hand on Mycroft's shoulder for a moment & left.

"Avery will find Sherlock," Anthea assured. "He's one of the best."

Mycroft remained in his position for a long time. Wait for the call. Sherlock was next. That's all Mycroft had to do was wait for that call. Then he could go out & lay claim to both their bodies at once, provided they could even find Sherlock after he ended up in the mess he was heading for.

Not to mention Shane, Sherlock's current protector. But Shane knew what was coming. More than anything, Mycroft hoped Shane would catch Sherlock before he got into trouble. At least Shane knew what was going on.

That said, Shane did fail horribly on keep Enola safe after all these years.

"Hello? Simone," Mycroft sat straighter, coming out of his doze when his mobile chimed. Simone was one of the guards he had sent after Sherlock. "The TV? No, hang on." He felt around on the table standing on the side for the remote & turned it on.

"There is just no end to the activity up & down the River Thames today," the woman reported. "Three murders & now, a high speed chase. A Hyundai Genesis Coupe followed by a Lamborghini Aventador—"

"Gallardo!" Mycroft corrected.

"—in a daring chase along the freeway—one moment!" She put her hand to her ear where a small microphone was, receiving instructions over live TV.

"I hope they're telling her it's the Gallardo," Mycroft muttered.

"I have just been told that the license plate is registered to one … Sherlock … Holmes."

"Oh dear!" Mycroft buried his face in his hands again. It would be a day of doing that it seems. Could things possibly get worse?

"Correction," The reporter went on. "It's a Gallardo not an Aventador."

"No shit, lady!" Mycroft watched as the scene switched from her to the chase. Sure enough, Sherlock's neon-green-with-black Lambo, twin blue fires erupted from the exhausts, was whizzing down the road after a deep blue Genesis Coupe 3.8 track. Mycroft knew exactly who was in the other vehicle. "Moriarty. He's got you by the tail, has he?" He smiled to himself, in spite of everything. Sherlock was still heading in the wrong direction, right for disaster, as Mycroft had known he would.

Sherlock waited until a curve came up. He let his window down & had his sidearm, a Colt, at the ready. As James turned into the curve first, Sherlock fired once in a straight line. The back tyre on the driver's side exploded. Sherlock swerved the Lambo to avoid James's spinning. The Lambo then reversed past James again & stopped.

James jumped out, pistol at the ready. Sherlock floored the pedal & brushed James on the side. He did a pirouette in the air & landed hard on his side. His gun went flying. Sherlock braked & turned so hard that his Lambo did a 360 degree spin once, then half of it again, yellow caution tape fluttering around its wheels. It came to rest near an entrance down to the Tube. The area had been closed down for repairs, according to the sign. He got out as James tried to get up.

"Moriarty!"

"You don't have me yet, Holmes!" James stumbled forward but fell down just as Sherlock's gun went off. It barely missed him

"This part of the Tube will definitely need repairs once I'm through with you," Sherlock snarled. He set his teeth against the pain in his leg & the fire in his throat & stumbled after. James got up again & headed down the stairwell leading to the Underground. Sherlock glanced up at the three helicopters coming in before disappearing down the stairs.

The next thing either of them knew was that they were pinned down by several metric tonnes of cement, trapped in an air pocket somewhere on those stairs.

"John, where are you?" Sherlock sighed weakly. He closed his eyes & knew no more.

John had just sent Molly by taxi back to London & he was now miffed (understatement if there ever was one) that the Tube going to the docks was closed down for repair. He would have to hail a cabbie for himself. He put a hand up just as a police cruiser went by. The cruiser stopped & backed up.

It was Lestrade. "Going somewhere?"

"I see you got yourself a new cruiser," John came to lean both arms on the window frame.

"No, I borrowed Sally's," Lestrade glared at him. "She's taken a month's leave after the fright you boys caused."

"That's ok, no body likes her anyway."

"I'm not even going to get into this with you," Lestrade looked forward for a bit.

"I'm heading for the Canary Wharf," John changed the subject. "I was going to take the Jubilee Line but the entire Tube is closed from here to there."

"Yeah, some major repairs," Lestrade explained.

"The entire length," John went on. "at once? You don't think that's odd?"

"I do," Lestrade admitted. "but there's nothing I can do about it. I'm just a lowly cop." Both laughed before Lestrade continued. "John, does Sherlock have a Lambo Aventador?"

"No."

"Oh," Lestrade looked confused a moment. "I thought it was him. There's a car chase going on with a Lambo. They said it was registered to his name."

"It's a Gallardo."

"They said Aventador," Lestrade insisted. "I got called out & wasn't able to watch the whole thing. Maybe something's mixed up. Look, I can't take you all the way to Canary Wharf but since I'm heading in that direction for now, you can hitch a ride part way. Less taxi fare to pay later."

"Sure," John went around to the other side & got in.

"So," Lestrade let it hang. After a confused glance, he went on. "It's Sunday. Is that package of his here now?"

"Oh, uh no," John stared out the side window. "Mm not yet."

After a few minutes, Lestrade said, "It's at Canary Wharf, isn't it?"

John turned to look at him. "It will be around four. I'm going to pick it up." John pulled out his mobile he had rescued from the bottom of a diving board & called Mycroft. "Hi, there's a car chase involving an Adventador. Sherlock has a Gallardo right?"

"It is a Gallardo," Mycroft said. "The lady made a mistake & has since corrected it. It's him, John. Neon-green. It's definitely him."

"He's going after Moriarty, isn't he?" John asked. He closed the phone soon after. Then he realised he was sitting next to Greg Lestrade. "You didn't hear that."

"I know about James," Lestrade said. "It's fine."

"You knew he was still alive?"

"No, but he was listed as missing & presumed dead for three years," Lestrade explained. "Only presumed. That plus what Mycroft once told me about him, I kind of worked it out that Moriarty might still be around. Especially since Sherlock showed up. I was waiting for this."

"Do you know some guy named Shane?" John asked. "He has the flat above ours."

"Shane? No, I don't," Lestrade pulled into a parking lot & next to a restaurant. "I'm on a different case in a minute, but it's petty stuff. Shouldn't take long. I'll meet you at the Canary Wharf."

"Alright," John said as they both got out.

The thunder was felt, not seen or heard. A rumble low in the Earth, shaking the very foundations. After only two or three steps, both Lestrade & John clutched their ribs where the heart was.

"Oof!" Lestrade moaned, stumbling backwards. "I should get my heart checked."

"It isn't your heart."

Lestrade looked at John & saw in him the soldier. Another vibration of Earthly thunder.

"It's a bomb. Two of them!" John began running up the small hill behind the restaurant. "GREG!"

Lestrade followed him. They stood together staring ahead where the Tube used to be. "Well, it definitely needs repairs after that!"

"Mycroft!" John gasped. "He did this. Not the bombing. The evacuation. It makes sense. If he knew it was about to be bombed, of course he'd clear out the Underground here."

"John," Lestrade began. "Sherlock was heading right for the center of it in that car chase."

"No," John knelt down, staring into the abyss. The Tube was sunken into the ground like a fault line cracked open. "Would he be close enough to this? Where exactly is he?"

Sherlock was currently lying down the stairwell leading into Canada Water, a station along the Jubilee Line. He was quite literally lying downwards, his left leg caught under rubble by the pant-material but not crushed. At least not crushed by the rubble. It was already severely injured by the fall of Bach. "Why is it always the left side these days?" He whined to himself like a child, lying his head back. How long had he been out?

The darkness hurt his eyes so he closed them again & spread his arms outward. To his left was the wall of the stairs. He could feel it all along his side & could not stretch out that arm at all except over his head. He did so but felt nothing. His right hand brushed against the other wall. He then began to follow that wall downward until he stopped touching it & expected to touch open space again. Instead, he felt hair. Useless though it was, Sherlock let his eyes open again. "James." There was no answer. Sherlock raised his voice as best he could. "James Moriar—" He was cut off by a fit of coughing & coughing nearly upside-down only doubled the chest pain it caused.

"I'm here," James gasped weakly once Sherlock was quiet again. "I'm …hmmm … I'm here. I'm not dead yet!" He started to laugh but pain snapped through his ribs & something warm & sticky entered his mouth. Blood. "What … What was that?"

"Like I can believe you weren't planning on bombing the Tube," Sherlock muttered. "Neither can I believe I'm stuck here. With you!"

"It wasn't me," James said.

"Can you move?"

"No," James whispered, nearly passing out. "Just my head & one hand. There's a bit of mud around me."

"It'll wash off," Sherlock muttered, closing his eyes again to think.

"_Then we have no choice," Mycroft was saying as he stared out the window. "Evacuate the tube by the Thames. Yes. If you can't get to them, remove everyone."_

"Oh Adrian," Sherlock bemoaned suddenly. "What have you gotten yourself into this time?"

They both stayed silent for several minutes. Sherlock felt around his left wrist until he located his watch & pressed a button. It lit up in a pale green, casting an eerie glow on their private cavern. He titled his head back as much as possible, aiming the light below him. What he saw actually sent a shiver through him. James Moriarty had more than just a little mud on him. He was entombed in the rubble. Blocks of cement squeezed him in from both sides & one neatly fitted over top as a lid. Sherlock realised then that James was dead. Finally. The only thing holding him together & keeping him alive when he shouldn't be was the rubble. Once they were dug up, James Moriarty would collapse.

James moved his head a bit & half-caught Sherlock's eye before he released the button on his watch. "It doesn't feel as bad as it looks." He rested his head a moment before glancing down by instinct. Of course, he couldn't see through solid rock or darkness, but he could feel. His feet were suddenly wet, then his ankles. Water was leaking in from somewhere. Oh, if only Sherlock knew.

"I wasn't concerned."

"You should be," James said before singing out. "I know something you don't know."

"I don't care to kn—Mummy have mercy! My Lambo!"

"You're worried about your stupid car at a time like this?"

"Hmm, it's amazing the things one thinks about when they're so sick & injured that they're near death," Sherlock shrugged it off. At least he could shrug. "My Lambo is definitely finished."

"It's fitting, don't you think?" James went on. "We die together."

"I said near death," Sherlock muttered. "I have no intention of dying any time soon."

"Well I don't know," James taunted. "You might wish to die instead."

"James shut up! I need to assess the situation."

"Assess the situation?" James raised his voice but wished he hadn't. It nearly killed him with pain. He whispered hoarsely. "We're entombed inside the Tube. BY the Tube."

"Yes, I realise that!" Sherlock snarled.

James rolled his eyes & muttered to himself, "Don't know when to quit."

"My gun. Where is my gun?" Sherlock struggled to sit up as best he could. His head just barely touched the roof of their enclosure. He could move around a bit, held fast by his left leg only.

"If I knew, I wouldn't tell you," James teased.

"I'll shoot you once I find it, then I can work in peace."

"If you do find it, might want to save the bullet for yourself," James went on. "You only have one left don't you?"

.

"One is all I need," Sherlock retorted.

There was a groan of rock & the area shook a little. A few rocks & pebbles fell down. Another groan was heard, human this time. James was getting more compressed.

Sherlock reached inside his shirt & felt around. It was still there. He used his watch light to make sure it was on to record, then covered the wire up again. "We need to have a little talk."

"What now?" James grumbled.

"Those kids. What did you do with them?"

"I'm not going to tell you anything."

"You said it yourself, we're both going to die in here," Sherlock pointed out. "After that little shake, I agree with you. It's settling. Settling on us. Let's just talk. Stay alive as much as possible. I'm really curious to know."

Sherlock heard soft hisses & breaths. James was trying to laugh without hurting himself. "You're right. We'll both be dead long before it settles anyway. I told the kids I was rescuing them. From you. I showed them a picture of you & told them you liked to hurt kids. I kept my own face covered so they would never recognise me."

"Oh, of course!" Sherlock huffed.

"They kept the picture until I got rid of it," James went on. "but they had already envisioned you in their mind. I told them all sorts of nasty things you'd do if you found them. Then gave them that candy as a friend so to speak. It worked perfectly."

"The only one I'd ever hurt is you, James Moriarty," Sherlock said. "However, it seems the Tube beat me to it. You must have had fun making up Richard Brook."

"Yeah I did," James said. Sherlock could hear the smile in his voice. "Even you were confused for a bit."

"Only a bit, James Moriarty," Sherlock smiled. "Only a bit." He had everything, absolutely everything, thanks to the wire. His name would be cleared now. He had repeated James's full name a few times for emphasis so everything was clear; even brought up 'Richard Brook'. He left the wire on in case James spilled any more insights. He checked his watch again. It was nearly three-thirty in the afternoon. He sighed heavily, hoping he wouldn't pass out that long again. "You don't need those codes now do you?" He added as an after thought.

"Neither does John," James said.

"He'll get to the ship," Sherlock stated. "You've lost. Admit it."

"No," James actually laughed a little louder. He yelped with the pain it caused. "No, I didn't it. Boom Boom again."

"What?"

"I don't know who's responsible for the Tube," James explained. "I don't care either. But I do know that if neither you or I show up for that ship, it'll blow at quarter after four today. If John's there, oh well. Fare Thee Well, Love, as they say."

"James, it's a cruising ship! There are hundreds of people on board. Not to mention the docks." Sherlock was glad he left the wire on. More insight indeed!

"So?" James replied. "So long as she's dead, I've won. You have no mobile to reach John to warn him. You're hanging under rubble about to collapse on us. You have the Thames rising up to meet you. No way out! I've really beaten you."

"The Thames?"

"Yes, dofus!" James answered. "The Thames. Think! Where does this part of the Tube go? Near the Thames. It's filling up the Tube & it's rising. It was at my feet a while ago. Guess where it is now? Just below my hips, honey, but it isn't stopping there. If the rubble doesn't get you first, the river will & since you're upside-down, well I'll leave you to imagine. See you in the afterlife."

"We'll see about that," Sherlock tried to stifle another coughing fit but to no avail. Exhausted from that, he closed his eyes, intending to rest a little & figure out a way out of here.


	20. Chapter 20

**(20) Pacific Princess**

John had used a cabbie to get as close to the Canary Wharf as possible. After the double explosion, most of the Isle Of Dogs had been cordoned off & John had to traverse the area on foot, either using his status as a doctor & a soldier to get by or simply slink around.

He stood looking at the skyline. The UK's tallest buildings were here, the tallest of them being One Canada Square. John understood why Sherlock had picked this place to bring his precious package home. There was a bit of Canadian history around here. Besides One Canada Square, a Canadian company 'Olympia & York' had constructed major office development on the Isle Of Dogs.

John's eyes finally found her. The Pacific Princess floated gently on the River Thames slowly manoeuvring into her berth. "Well this is it." John began picking his way towards her. The Tube was still down, even here, though it wasn't caved in as further inland. John tried hard not to think where Sherlock might be & focused all his energy on the cruise liner. He glanced back along the gaping line of the Underground. The Jubilee Line came right to Canary Wharf, the station just before was Canada Water. Somewhere between there & here the crack in the Earth seemed to have ended, leaving piles of rubble sealing the undamaged part of the Tube off.

By the time he had finally made his way down to the ship, it was nearly four. Pacific Princess had just finished docking procedures. John couldn't see Lestrade anywhere near yet, but he wasn't about to wait. He stepped up to the booth & held out his ID-Card. "I'm here to pick up a package for one Sherlock Holmes."

The girl's face suddenly turned very solemn & without a word, she disappeared into the building for a few minutes. When she returned, three guards followed her, one British & two American.

The British took one look at John & demanded. "Do you have a password?"

"I have them all," John took out his mobile.

'I AM

S-H-E-R

LOCKED'

He went straight to his email. This was the first time he actually opened that attachment & he took a moment to absorb it all. The first two passwords were a set of numbers. He rattled off the first set & looked up expectantly.

"If you don't know what those numbers are 'aboot'," one of the American guards stepped closer to him. "You have no business here, eh?"

A boot? No, there's an accent in there. About! Eh? Canadian not American, though technically, same area. North American continent. John realised he was screwed. Royally screwed. But Sherlock let him go without any explanation. Surely he thought John could figure them out. It had to be something simple. "I know what they mean," John quickly lied. He hadn't a clue. "I was just checking."

"Get on with it then," The Canadian guard glared. "You have thirty seconds."

John kept his face down, staring at his mobile to hide his furious look. These numbers looked so familiar too. He knew what they were. Somewhere, he knew. No he didn't. Damn it! Wait. They did look familiar. John looked up & smiled. "Latitude & Longitude. Co-ordinates of where Pacific Princess floats right now."

"Welcome aboard," The three guards said as one & ushered him forward.

At the entrance, the Canadian guard who had spoken first to John stood back, letting his two friends & John pass. "I will remain here." He went to stand on the side. John began to move again, noticing that the other two guards hesitated a moment as if confused before following after him.

They boarded Pacific Princess & headed down to the lower levels. The two guards stopped by a door, crossed their arms & looked at John expectantly. There was a keypad to unlock the door. John looked at the second set of numbers then noticed that the keypad … had none. This keypad was custom made it seemed. Looking at the second set again, he realised that it was a date. "That's the day Sherlock & I first met."

Neither of his guards said anything, waiting for the next code. John thought hard. He had met Sherlock on this date, but these codes were from Sherlock's point of view. Sherlock had met him. He entered 'John Watson' & was promptly locked out. Both guards pulled out sidearms, aiming for his head.

"You have but one chance left," the second Canadian guard said. "Fail & you die."

John scowled at his mobile. The date. Day? What day was it when he first laid eyes on Sherlock Holmes? Sunday? No. Tuesday! Right? Wednesday it is. He glanced both ways & raised a trembling hand to the keypad.

'HAMISH'

The door slid open. John pursed his lips & led the way in. Curse that bloody bastard to hell!

The procession headed down the hall. John checked his watch. 4.08. He stood before another keypad. Checking his mobile again, he noticed that there were no more numerical passwords. Just 'My note to John.' & then a picture with several names written on it. John focused on the words first. What did that mean? He checked both guards in turn but they were standing straight & looking back the way they had come, letting John do the work. "My note to …" He read softly to himself. My note.

_"You have any idea what it's like watching helplessly as your friend literally throws himself away? Never mind. What's the most important thing?"_

_"My note."_

_"You're note?"_

_"Yes."_

_"I didn't see any note."_

_"You won't either. You heard it. The one I spoke to you about before I jumped."_

_"What about it?"_

_"John, you had the information in front of you since the beginning," Sherlock took a few more steps towards him & actually put a hand on his shoulder, the one he was shot through years ago._

"The most important thing," John said, entering the date of Sherlock's suicide.

The door slid open to a large room with windows on three sides. It was at the back end of the ship. The windows were open, letting in sunlight & air. John checked the final message. The picture of the little girl he had seen in Canada. With an air of annoyance, he realised that all the names … were hers. "Well that's quite a name for such a little girl." John stepped in farther, looking around. "Why don't we just stick with the first two, eh? Sheba-Marie. Where are you? You saw me once before. Back in Canada. Come out. Oh, I know where she is. She's behind the table, isn't she?" He quickly pulled it away to look, hearing a giggle from somewhere else. "Not the table then. Ok is she … in the closet?" He quickly wrenched that open. He knew he was nowhere near the girl but nothing wrong with a little play.

There was a bomb ticking down mounted on the wall. It had five minutes left.

"Guards! GUARDS!" John ran to the door. "There's a bomb. Five minutes left. Evacuate the ship now!"

"What?" The second Canadian guard who had come with them looked past John's head. "Five minutes, eh? There's no time to get them all off."

"Ship-wide hail!" John suggested. "Tell them to jump & swim ashore. I'll get the girl."

The two guards scattered to remove as many as possible.

John ran back through the room. "Sheba? Sheba-Marie! We've got to go now." There was a fridge near the wall. John opened it & found a plastic bag with a sandwich in it. He left the sandwich there but took the bag, placing his mobile in it & sealing it. He put that into his inner pocket & did up the button. "I hope you know how to swim." He looked around beside the fridge to where the girl sat hiding. The purple scarf was wrapped around her shoulders & she was tucking a plush toy under her chin, holding onto it tightly. She looked up at him & smiled. It was basically Sherlock looking back at her. This was the face he had seen in the rosebushes, as if Sherlock himself had been there. The security blanket that had become entangled in the bushes was actually the scarf. "Come on, sweetheart. Let's go find Daddy."

Sheba jumped into his arms & he carried her to the window. "I go home now."

"Yes, yes you do," John patted her head. "I don't know if you can swim or not. Let's play a game. I'm going to throw you in the water. Do NOT move. You'll float, don't worry. Just don't move, ok? I'll jump in beside you & take you home. Ok?" Sheba nodded & John threw her, toy, scarf & all—Sherlock forbid if he didn't get the damn scarf to!—into the water as far as possible.

He dived in after her. Sheba lay on her back looking up at the sky, her red velvet dress lifting out around her. She still clutched at what seemed to be her favourite toy, a plushie Canada goose about the size of her head & seemed to thoroughly enjoy herself floating around. The scarf half-floated nearby. John snatched it as he went by & then locked an arm around the child, pulling her away from the ship. He went into the center of the Thames, letting the current rush them down stream even faster. He struggled against that, slowly but surely making his way across the Thames & climbed on the opposite shore, pulling the girl up after him.

The ship suddenly lit up from one end to the other with several explosions. At least six. John realised that she had been rigged from bow to stern all along that lower level. Sheba's level. He could only watch helplessly as the ship broke apart in a blaze of firepower. Other's had jumped off to. He had seen others in the water. But not enough. Not even half. "Ah hell James!" John knew exactly who was responsible for blasting the ship. The Pacific Princess scattered in all directions across the River Thames & the shore-side she was on, taking most of the docks around her. Bits of her burned in a heated frenzy before sinking into the water. Half the people in the water had gone up on that shore & probably wouldn't survive the heat & shrapnel. He could still see a few in the water, swimming with the current like he did. The only survivors were the ones who went with the current.

John & Sheba watched until the Pacific Princess was no more, sunk under the water completely, leaving smoke over the river & burning rubble where docks used to be.

Burning bodies to. John didn't want to think of that but couldn't help himself. John folded up the scarf & wrung it out, then handed it to Sheba who shivered. It wasn't exactly summer & they were both soaking. River Thames was cold. John got on one knee before the girl, holding out the scarf. She took it & looked at him. "I can't believe how I almost failed today. Oh God!" John lay forward, resting his face on the rocky beach. "How close I came to failing." John felt cold not with water but with shock. He sighed heavily & then pulled the girl to him, scooping her up. He began walking along the shore until he stood opposite the Canary Wharf, what was left of it. "Let's find Greg."

The blast of the boat was felt & heard up & down the river. Sherlock & James were both shaken in their places with it. James began gasping softly. Hearing a sucking sound, Sherlock turned on his watch light again & pressing himself against the wall he was pinned, he was able to look downward at James. The Tube was eating him, sucking him into the debris pile. He was up to his nose now, his eyes open but glazed over & then sunk down further. Sherlock could only see one hand left above & then, he was alone.

"So much for James Moriarty," Sherlock muttered to himself, as the shaking finally stopped. "Laters!" Pebbles & dirt still skittered along the slope. A slab of cement slide over the spot where James Moriarty used to be, plugging the hole & slowing down the encroaching River Thames. He felt a dull pain in his left leg again. The cement blocks had shifted & were now pinching him in place. Sherlock lay on his inclined bed again, partly feeling the edge of each stair. It was starting to kill his back. "John, please have her off that ship!" Whom was he kidding? John was dead. So was his daughter. John wouldn't even be allowed to board until four. Fifteen minutes? No time to get to her. Not only did John have to figure out the passwords on his own, he had to actually board the ship & go down there to get her. There might have been time enough for that, but then he had to disembark as well & without knowing the danger of the rigged liner, he would be in no hurry. Not to mention, even if he did make it off the Pacific Princess with the girl, the docks were most definitely history. With that sequence of blasts? (Sherlock had counted six.) There was no denying it. John & Sheba were dead, along with hundreds of other people on board the ship as well as in the docks. "At least you died first, Moriarty!" He let his light go off & lay in the dark, waiting his turn. The only company he had was a distant gurgling under him from deep within the Tube. It was digesting James no doubt, compressing him further into something the size of a toothpick.

John felt the rumblings of the ground, vibrations left over from the exploding ship, as he walked along. He carried the girl for almost an hour, simply heading away from the destruction. He barely heard the siren blipping behind him & only a long blast of the horn finally brought John to a halt. He turned around, Sheba curled up in his arms, head on his scarred shoulder fast asleep. With his free hand, John pushed the neck of the Canada goose sideways out of his mouth. "Greg."

"Where have you been?" Lestrade got out of his cruiser. "I've been looking all over for you. Calling your phone."

"Sorry it's off. I turned it off."

"Get in," Lestrade nodded his head to the opposite side, sitting down in the driver's side again. He put the heater on full blast in an effort to warm John.

Once both were seated & belted in, Lestrade finally seemed to notice the girl. He stared at her a bit before saying, "There are pieces of a green Lamborghini Gallardo at Canada Water."

John let out a noise that nearly sounded like a snore. "The ship is destroyed." 

"I wasn't expecting to find you at all," Lestrade said, putting the cruiser in motion. "A lot of people died today."

"James Moriarty," John said. "He's responsible."

"How do you know?"

"That ship was for Sherlock, remember?"

"Oh, right!" Lestrade suddenly remembered. "Well, it's Sunday. You said you'd tell me on Sunday. Did you even manage to get it?"

"Yes."

"Where is it? What is it, more precisely?"

"You're looking at her."

Lestrade drove in silence, stealing glances at the girl. His tyres suddenly screeched to a halt. "John, does Sherlock … have a daughter?"

"Yep."

"Wow!" Lestrade breathed. "No wonder he was so obsessed with Canada. A daughter." He reached over & pushed away some hair to see the girl's face better. "Who's the mother?"

"I'm not sure but I think it's Clarisse Van Lune … erm … Enola," John said. "She's dead."

Lestrade sat back straight again. Neither man wanted to say 'Sherlock was dead.' "That's unfortunate."

"I met her twice briefly," John went on. "She was murdered right in front of me. Did you hear about the three murders at the pool?"

"Yeah," Lestrade nodded. "None of us cops were allowed around it."

"Mycroft probably," John shrugged a bit. "Since James Moriarty was involved. He killed her."

"If … if we can't…" Lestrade stammered, attempting to drive again.

If we can't find Sherlock alive, hung between them.

"Molly & I are her Godparents," John said. "The girl is already taken care of."

"Good, that's, that's really good," Lestrade nodded. "So, what's her name?"

"She has like six or seven of them," John smiled a bit. "I didn't read them all yet. Just the first two. Sheba-Marie."

"Interesting name," Lestrade took his eyes off the road a moment to look at the sleeping chid while they were paused at a stop light.

"I'll dig out the rest later. She's sleeping on that pocket."

The sun was set by the time Lestrade pulled up to 221B Baker Street. John got out, lifting the girl higher on his shoulder. He caught the toy & the scarf in his other hand. "Call me when … when it happens." When they found Sherlock's body, or what was left of it.

"I will when I know," Lestrade said. "We all got kicked out once the wreckage of the Lambo was found. Mycroft is there. I saw him. Oh John, he looks so … so…"

"Ruined?"

"Yeah," Lestrade sighed. "I'll call you when I know." He watched John carry Sheba upstairs & inside before driving away.

John stripped the child down & gave her a bath as hot as she could stand, hoping it wasn't too late to stop a cold from latching on to her. He gave her one of his sweaters & it acted like a nightgown. He sat Sheba in front of the TV & put it on the cartoon channel, called Molly to let her know everything was fine, then called Mrs. Hudson up & explained to her who the girl was & where Sherlock was.

"I don't think there's any coming back from this one," John said in a low tone. Discussing the death of the father in front of the girl was out of the question for tonight. She needed rest after her ordeal. They would tell her when the call came in.

Just in case.

"She looks just like him," Mrs Hudson said. "Except the hair. I guess that's her mother's."

"I think she's dead to," John shivered. "Mrs. Hudson, can you watch her for a few minutes? I need a hot shower myself."

"Yes, of course. Go right ahead."

When he came out, Molly was seated in his chair. She along with John, Sheba & Mrs. Hudson spent the night together in 221B, alternating between being awake & having naps. Sheba seemed the most calm, particularly when Honky-Tonks, her prized Canada goose, was finally taken out of the dryer & given back to her along with Daddy's scarf. She spent most of the night in Sherlock's room on his bed. John spent most of his waking hours, mounting a small cabinet on the wall that Mrs. Hudson didn't need to put the guns in. Unloaded now. He added a padlock to the doors.

The next morning, there was still no call. Molly & Mrs. Hudson were dozing on the couch. Sheba was still sleeping on Sherlock's bed. Restless, John finally got up & headed for the door. The women could handle each other for a few hours.

John arrived close to Canada Water by cabbie a while later. He almost wasn't allowed through but Mycroft himself rescued him. "There's still nothing." 

Mycroft & John both stood close to what Mycroft called Ground 0. Sherlock was at the center here, somewhere. John noticed a stack of twisted green metal & tyres on the left side. The Lambo. On the other side was another destroyed deep blue vehicle, Moriarty's Hyundai. John remembered something about a car chase yesterday. He then looked to where the stairwell had been, now clogged with debris. Sherlock & James must have gone down there.

James? John's eyes went wide. "Mycroft, I think Moriarty is here to."

"I know." Mycroft watched men pull out a large slab only to go back down for more. "So, how's my little niece?"

John stared in disbelief. He then turned his eyes to the sky, raising one hand in defeat. "She's fine. Sleeping. Mrs. Hudson & Molly are watching her."

"What's her name?"

"What's this? Something you don't know?" John smirked at him. "Sheba-Marie."

"Sheba-Marie," Mycroft raised his brow. "I'd like to meet her later."

They both stood in silence, watching the excavation. Any moment now, John expected a body to be hauled up but it didn't happen. It was just rock. Rock. Rock. Rock. The process was slow 'in case any one was alive under there.'

Mycroft turned his attention to a computer screen he had set up displaying live news. John stood next to him to watch. The Pacific Princess. Helicopters were still flying over the area up & down the River Thames looking for, well for anything. Mostly it was bodies & debris of the ship & docks. There was a quick pan over one shore where at least three hundred if not more bodies were lying on the ground in rows, one right on the beach next to the water. Then another row up higher & another higher still & then even more rows. Every single body was covered in sheets, bags, jackets, anything to hide the individual lying there, so neat & orderly unlike the carnage of war John was used to. Every one lay waiting to be claimed. A number on screen showed up with the current death count: 523, not all yet found. The ship could carry 680 & there was at least another four or five hundred on & around the docks as well. John knew that count would go over a thousand before the day was out. More rows of the dead to be laid out in a graveless cemetery, awaiting recognition provided they weren't blown apart.

"I can't believe Sheba & I got out of that."

"Seven then."

"What?" 

"Between the ship & the docks, only five people were found alive so far. You & Sheba would make seven."

"Is that it?" John fell cross-legged to the ground & sat there staring at nothing.

"So far."

They remained in silence for almost two hours. Every so often the death count number would climb higher. The first flight of stairs had been dug through & the second one was started on.

"Master Holmes?"

Mycroft shook himself out of his trance. "Simone, have they found him yet?"

She waved a hand to the hole in the ground where the stairs were. "They've discovered an air-pocket. Maybe. They're breaking it open right now. Perhaps twenty minutes?" Mycroft nodded & she headed back to her post.

Sherlock woke up halfway to the sound of scraping & that gurgling from earlier, which was much louder now. He stretched his hands back over his head to let them hang a bit. His arms submerged under water almost up to the shoulder. "Ah! Alright!" Sherlock bent his body up as if sitting, grabbing onto the roof of his tomb with one hand. Shaking his head a little to wake up more, he noticed that the hair on top of his head was damp.

The River Thames was rising greet him. So that was he gurgling sound. Water pouring in.

"Come on Mycroft, you better hurry!" Sherlock blinked around in the darkness.

His back protested at the position he had forced himself into but there was no other choice. His head would soon be under water if he lay down any more. This way at least, he estimated maybe twenty minutes.

After ten minutes, Sherlock's spine was in so much pain that he felt it would crack. He didn't have a choice. He had to stretch out just for a bit. He took a breath & let himself fall back.

The water nearly covered his face but still left his mouth free. Sherlock decided to just lie like that until he could no longer breathe in this position. After a few minutes, he had to sit up to get any air. "Mycroft, now would be a really good time!" He shook his head & blinked water from his eyes. He could see. It wasn't dark. "Hello?" No answer. Sherlock whistled shrilly as if summoning his stallion.

"Sir, someone's alive under here!" Avery's voice sounded.

"Avery!" Sherlock called. "Thames is rising. Hurry!"

"My God! He's alive!" Mycroft gasped as John stood up. Both hurried forward.

"Sherlock…Sherlock!"

"John?" Sherlock whispered to himself. He called out, "John!"

"I'm up here. Hang on"

"John," Sherlock whispered to himself. "Oh, John!" Forgetting all about the river, Sherlock lay back. "He's oka—" His head went well under the water which started lapping at his throat. He sat up hurriedly, spluttering & then coughing. More scraping sounds. Then the rock above him was taken off & he was caught under his arms by Avery on one side & Simone on the other so he wouldn't fall back again into the water. Two other men freed his leg at last & Sherlock was hauled up at last. He found himself in John's arms. "John … is … is Sheb …."

"She's ok. Just fine," John assured. "Mrs. Hudson & Molly have her."

"She… Sheba."

"She's fine," John held Sherlock back, looking into his eyes. "Well done, old man."

Sherlock glared, then smiled. "Not that old," He closed his eyes & he collapsed.

"Sherlock? Sherlock!" John caught him & lowered him to the ground. Once Sherlock was safely secured & the gurney with John sitting beside him, he opened his mobile.

"They found him!" Lestrade stood up & walked out of the office pulling on his jacket. He cast a glance at Anderson. "I'm going to the hospital." Anderson nodded & relaxed back into his chair. He didn't need to ask who 'him' was. He smiled quickly to himself & bent over his desk once more.


	21. Chapter 21

**(21) Healing**

_**Five weeks later**_

Mycroft mumbled at being awakened. He lifted his head, rubbing his eyes. He had been kneeling on the floor & was lying over the bed. He didn't remember doing that but apparently, he had indeed fallen asleep. Mycroft looked at the hand that had touched his head. Looking towards the pillows, his eyes met ice. The hand dropped back to the other side where it had been for a while. "Sherlock," Mycroft whispered, almost afraid to hope he was seeing right. "You're awake."

Sherlock closed his eyes & reopened them slowly as if saying 'Yes' or in his case 'Obviously!'

Mycroft slowly, daringly moved his own hand forward. This has happened before, many times for over a month. Always, Sherlock would succumb to his illness within a matter of minutes & sink back into his coma once more. Mycroft finally laid a hand over Sherlock's brow, expecting to find the usual firestorm there. "It broke!" He gasped. "Finally! Your fever broke." Was this the time Sherlock would stay awake at last?

The last five weeks flashed through his mind.

"_Sir, your brother is very ill."_

_"Will he be alright?"_

_"We won't know for a while. His fever is very high. It isn't just a common cold. He has pneumonia. Then there are his injuries. Some of his older wounds reopened while he was buried. They're infected."_

_The waiting was the worst. Every three or four days, Sherlock would waken, but he would be weak each time. Burning. Delirious. Could hardly move or speak._

_It would last between ten minutes & half an hour, then he'd faint again._

_He never remembered being awake before when he'd come to at a later time._

_Three times during the first two weeks, Sherlock had almost been lost & had to be brought back to life using the paddles & even left on a machine for a while._

_Each time he'd wake up only to pass out again was very nearly his last time._

Mycroft turned to leave.

A vice-like grip encircled his right wrist, pulling him back. Mycroft turned back sharply, eyes of ice catching his again. Sherlock looked at him one way, then another, like a dolphin giving time to each eye. "Sherlock," Mycroft gasped softly. "You're hurting me. Let go I'm going to get John. I'll be right back. You want to see John, don't you? Not to mention Sheba. Please, let go!"

Sherlock hesitated a moment, nodded once & dropped Mycroft's wrist.

Mycroft hurried down stairs to the lobby where John & Sheba lay curled up on the couch. It was John's turn. Mycroft's watch was just finishing. Lestrade & Molly would have been the next night. Mrs. Hudson was Lestrade's replacement whenever he had to work. Hopefully, none of them needed to keep watch anymore. "He's awake & his fever's gone."

"About time," John eyed Mycroft, silently asking the one question.

"Come on & bring Sheba!" Mycroft disappeared through the door. John snatched up the girl & ran after.

Mycroft stood aside to let John pass him to get to the bed. John put Sheba down. Sherlock's eyes caught sight of her & his whole body somehow shuddered. He had finally relaxed. He patted beside him. Sheba clamoured up right onto his chest. Surprised that she'd get that close, Sherlock raised his arms as if about to hold her & gingerly rested his hands on her back. Sheba kissed his cheek, making him blink a few times, not quite sure how to handle this. John & Mycroft didn't bother to hide their snickers, earning a glare. "Daddy, we were worried. You wouldn't wake up!" Sherlock nodded into her hair.

John & Mycroft exchanged a glance of worry. Sherlock … wasn't speaking. Not even to Sheba. It certainly wasn't rejection; not after all the trouble he went through to get her home. But he wouldn't even speak to Sheba? This was the first time the girl had been allowed near Sherlock. Before, he was to sick & no one wanted her to catch anything. Also, it was hard to explain just exactly what happened or mention that he might never pull through to someone not even three years old.

John stepped forward & felt Sherlock's forehead, then pressed around his throat. "Any pain?" Sherlock shook his head. "Dizziness? Nausea? Anything at all?" Sherlock continued to shake his head, eventually rolling his eyes at the bombardment of questions. "Don't give me that look. I'm a doctor. It's my job!" Sherlock still didn't say anything, not even to John. "You look tired." Sherlock gave him a quick look, nodding his head once. "Why don't I take Sheba to get something to eat? We'll come back when you've rested up a bit?" Sherlock now looked worried & instinctively he held Sheba tighter. "Ok, she can stay here. You rest a bit, without fever now." Sherlock relaxed his grip on the girl, pushing her sideways off his chest so he could breathe better. He noticed John's cane, pointed at it & then raised his eyes.

"I'm not limping around," John said. "Someone hit me in the face last month. If I ever see him again, he'll regret it."

Sherlock looked away quickly, focusing on Sheba. He really didn't want to know if this was a bad day, or a worse one.

"I'll get the nurse," John said as he walked passed Mycroft.

Mycroft sat on the bed on Sherlock's other side, opposite of Sheba. "Quite the pretty girl you've got there." Sherlock merely glared at him for a second. Mycroft sighed heavily. "Alright, I admit, you & I said some very hurtful things to each other last time we spoke." Sherlock rolled his eyes, turning away angrily. He petted back a bit of Sheba's hair. "I'm sorry." Mycroft muttered. Sherlock kept his back to him. An awkward silence fell between them. Mycroft decided to break it. "Look, if you're still awake tonight, you'll be told everything but you can't let anyone in on it except John." Sherlock raised his head & looked over his shoulder, gave a quick nod & then focused on his daughter once more. He was perfectly capable of keeping secrets, unlike some people apparently. "Okay," Mycroft patted Sherlock's hip & got up.

John entered with the nurse as Mycroft was leaving Sherlock's room. "Sheba, come here." He held out his arms. "Let the nurse work a bit." At a nod from Sherlock, Sheba slipped off the bed & headed for John. "I'll be back later, when she's done."

It wasn't until almost an hour later when John finally returned. He was alone. He sat on the bed. "Sheba fell asleep so Mycroft took her home. You'll see her tomorrow." Sherlock merely nodded. "There's physically nothing wrong with you so you should be able to speak. Don't worry. You will soon enough. It's just shock-muteness."

Sherlock shook his head.

"You're a shock-mute," John tried again. Sherlock shook his head 'No." harder than before. "It's ok. It happens. Shock-mu—oof!" Sherlock clapped a hand over John's mouth, wildly shaking his head. Once released, John gasped for air & said, "You're trying to tell me you're not a shock-mute right now?" Sherlock gave him the most exasperated look yet. Finally, he gets it. "Alright genius! What would YOU call it?" Sherlock sat up in bed, put both hands on his sides & raised an 'obvious' eyebrow. "You can speak just fine, physically." Sherlock nodded. "You don't think you're in shock?" Sherlock looked down, shaking his head. Once their eyes met again, John took a moment to think. No, it couldn't be. Not now? "Sherlock, now is not the time for an oath of silence! Is this because of Mycroft?" Of all the childish things! Sherlock smiled triumphantly, snapped his fingers & lay back. "You're a bloody idiot!" John lay back as well, feeling Sherlock shrug not caring at all.

The sun finally sunk & with the door closed, the room was in almost complete darkness, save for light from the parking lot outside. John lay flat on his back, Sherlock moulded to his left side, having one arm over his chest to hold him in place. He turned his head to watch Sherlock, who seemed to be sleeping save for the harder breathing. John's eyes landed on Sherlock's lips. Why not? Sherlock wanted him to be the dominant one. Might as well put that theory to the test. He moved his head forward, crushing their lips together.

Sherlock put a hand on John's head, over his ear. He began stroking the hair behind it with his fingers. John pulled back for some air. "You know, we've got plenty of morphine lying around." The hand stopped caressing his ear & John could almost feel those eyebrows rising up as Sherlock considered his words. John slipped a hand into Sherlock's hospital robe & began kneading his chest. Sherlock rolled to lay flat on his back, allowing John better access to him.

John kissed him again, got off the bed & went to check that the door was indeed closed for the night. When he got back into bed, he was completely undressed. He heard Sherlock pant softly beside him. "You have any idea how risqué this is? That door won't bloody lock!" They tried to kiss once more but Sherlock was to busy smiling. John ended up snickering as well as he helped Sherlock completely out of the hospital robe. "Are you sure you're up for this?" Sherlock took John's hand & pushed it down, placing it between his legs. "Not that kind of up!" John gave it a squeeze as punishment. Sherlock bucked into his hand. John let go. "You know what I mean." Sherlock smiled against his face, nodding his head. "Alright, but if you get tired or end up hurting somewhere, uh, other then there obviously, grab my scar to let me know. I'll stop." John lay over Sherlock, making him gasp as their heat touched. "Well well now, don't forget, you're under silent oath right now," John leaned forward to whisper in Sherlock's ear. "Slave!" Sherlock actually lifted his chin at that, possibly to glare. "You speak even one word, I'll make you regret it. Understand?" Sherlock nodded. "Good boy."

John kissed him again, feeling Sherlock's little smile. He thrusted against Sherlock a bit & then shifted down. "Remember, not one word!" He pressed in, feeling Sherlock arch his back under him.

A hand grabbed his scar.

John separated from Sherlock as if he were a live wire. He sat back on the edge of the bed, giving Sherlock plenty of space. "I'm sorry. Was I too rough?"

Sherlock shook his head as he sat up. He pulled up his legs & pressed his forehead to his knees, breathing hard.

John watched for a long time in silence. "Well it's about bloody time!" He finally said. He heard Sherlock whimper, his whole body shuddering. "Trying to join with you brought back some memories you thought you had deleted. Sherlock, you cannot delete something like that. It simply won't happen!"

Sherlock raised his face at last to look at John. He had finally been crying. A little, but the tears were there.

"It won't," John said again. "There are some things you just can't remove from that Mind Palace of yours. You have to fix wounds like that, not forget them."

Sherlock's shoulders sagged. His eyes asked one question. How?

John wondered if Sherlock could speak at this moment, oath or no oath. "Lie down."

Sherlock did so without hesitation. He wasn't afraid of John at all. He was perfectly safe with John. But letting John, another man, near him opened a door he thought was sealed to a kind of pain he wasn't supposed to feel.

John lay on his side, looking down into Sherlock's eyes. "You haven't been able to remove one detail of that night have you?" Sherlock closed his eyes, shaking his head. John put a hand on Sherlock's face, brushing away the few tears. "Good. Show me every spot they bit."

Slightly curious, Sherlock pressed his fingertips to one such spot & then another. John left a kiss at every touchdown. They worked their way downward until they reached what John knew would be the worst bite the gang had done. "They chewed the plums right up, didn't they?"

Sherlock huffed, annoyed at John's gift of understatement. Then he gasped softly, feeling John's mouth take in his whole length. Sherlock put both hands above his head to grab the headboard of the bed. John was warm & pleasant & though he could feel teeth, being that he was rather close to them at the moment, they didn't hurt. If anything, grating against them only managed to make him harder. Ooh, he was liking this! He started thrusting faster into Jo—John stopped. Why the hell did he stop? Sherlock glared. He had been so close but no reward.

"Oh, I'm not finished with you yet," John teased. Sherlock pouted, sliding his own hand down. He was pushed away. "Nope! You wanted me be the dominant one. I'll deal with that later." Sherlock gave him a 'you-had-better' look. "First, show me how they grabbed you."

Sherlock ran his fingers through his curls at the back of the head.

_Sherlock was wrenched to the ground by someone grabbing his hair from behind._

John sunk his fingers of both hands into Sherlock's hair, caressing the curls, massaging his way through them.

Sherlock grabbed his left wrist with his right hand & then switched, right wrist with left hand.

_Sherlock was pinned to the ground by his wrists & held down._

John knew he was seeing what happened that night in vivid detail. He took Sherlock's hands in his, rubbing down the arms to Sherlock's shoulders. John held himself up, pressing his palms against the tops of Sherlock's pecks. "We both know what comes next." Sherlock nodded his approval & John once more lay onto him; though, he didn't move down to try another joining. Not this time.

Sherlock responded to the heated touch by sliding his hands up John's arms until he reached the shoulders mirroring John's position. It seemed as if they were pushing away from each other as they ground together to get off.

Sherlock did not touch the scar again.

With a shuddering gasp, the two of them collapsed in a pile. John slipped off to lie on his side next to Sherlock, laying one arm across the other man's chest protectively. He held Sherlock close, slowly drifting to sleep next to him.

Sherlock wriggled beside him, keeping him awake. He whimpered. He poked John.

"What?" John grumbled. All he wanted to do was hold Sherlock close & sleep.

Sherlock cast him an anguished look, rubbed his forehead. His eyes said it all. Morphine. Idiot! Hello?

John crossed his eyes & got up. "We've got to give you something other than that stuff!" He found the pole nearby with a bag of morphine still hung onto it. He found an unopened bag with a new sterile needle & passed it all to Sherlock while he got dressed.

"I'm going down to get some tea," John said, scoffing as Sherlock put the needle in. "You want a cuppa?" Sherlock nodded. John picked up his cane & lay it back over his shoulder. "Don't overdose on that," he teased, earning an annoyed 'I know what I'm doing' look.

John entered the lobby & crossed the floor to the chair he had been using earlier. His bag was still underneath & he pulled out a box of teas. He stood up & was about to head for the kitchen for a kettle when he saw Shane.

"Hello, Sir," Shane half-waved on his way by.

John glared, dropped his chin to his chest & charged like a bull. He may be tiny compared to this man but that didn't deter him. He slammed headlong into Shane's stomach & both crashed into the wall. Next moment, his cane was pressed against the taller man's throat.

"What're you doing?" Shane gasped, thoroughly winded.

"That was for hitting me in the face," John glared. "What do you want?"

"I want to be friends?" Shane asked, putting his hands on each end of the cane to push away.

"I know you live above 221B. I know you've been stalking Sherlock. I know you hit me in the face. So I ask again, what do you want?"

"I'm so glad Sherlock found you," Shane muttered. "Get that cane out of my way & then we can talk."

John hesitated a moment before dropping his cane from Shane's throat. He didn't let go of it, just in case. "What is your interest in Sherlock?"

"Not the kind you have," Shane brushed himself off. "Don't worry."

"I worry."

Shane rolled his eyes. "Look Mycroft sent me here. I need to have a talk with Sherlock."

"You've got two problems with that," John said. "One: he's under silent oath because of Mycroft. Those two fight all the time. Two: me! I'm not letting you anywhere near him. He's suffered enough! He's my best friend & my mate. I will not see him hurt again. I will not LOSE him again! First James, now you? No! I'm a soldier & a doctor. You figure out how I can keep you away from him."

Shane glanced around & began herding John sideways to the kitchen door. It was empty since it was night time. He pushed John inside & closed the door. He was about to turn to John to speak but something hard snapped across his back. The cane. Shane yelped & went to his knees. John brought the cane down again, this time over his head.

"Stop it, Watson!" Shane shouted, rubbing his head. "It isn't what you think. Will you lay off you blithering sod?"

"A blithering sod? Oh that just absolutely does it!" Two whacks to Shane's head. "You'll pay for that!" John raised his cane again. He didn't know if another whack would kill the man or not. Probably not but it felt damn good beating him up!

Shane put up a hand & caught the cane in his grip. He jumped to his feet, brought his knee up & cracked the cane in two over it. John staggered backwards, staring at his beloved cane. "What? You don't even need this!" Shane tossed the pieces aside. "I'm not here to hurt or kill Sherlock. Now, I'm going to tell you one thing & then you will stay here & make tea while I go up there to speak with him. Understand? Now come here!" Shane grabbed John's right arm & snapped him around, pinning the arm behind John's back. He stepped up behind John & wrapped his other arm around the smaller man's waist, holding him firm. Shane whispered something in his ear. He felt John's body go slack with shock & let go.

By the time John recovered, Shane was long gone.


	22. Chapter 22

**(22) The Third Question**

Sherlock had pushed the pole back where it came from & was now lying back, waiting for John. He half-sat up, looking out the door John had left open. He heard the tapping of boot heels coming closer & a tall figure suddenly appeared in the doorway. It wasn't John. The man came in & stood at the end of his bed. Sherlock kept a firm grip on the sheet he had wrapped himself in earlier.

"So, Sherlock Holmes," the man said. "We meet at last. Properly." He stepped into the shaft of light coming from the parking lot. Shane. Sherlock's eyes darted to the door. Where was John?

"John's making tea," Shane said. "May I sit down?" Sherlock looked back at him, glanced to the edge of his bed & shrugged. "Thanks." Shane did so with a long groan. "Your little lover has a lot of feistiness in him! Charged at me like a bull & beat me up with his cane." Sherlock didn't bother to hide his smirk. "Stop that!" Shane moaned, looking cross. He reached a hand behind himself to rub the welt on his back. "Anyway, on to business. Do you know who I really am?"

Sherlock made a move that was part shrug part shaking his head.

"We were supposed to meet over a month ago," Shane went on. "Circumstances were so different then. Ennie was with us."

Sherlock dropped his eyes for a moment, knowing Ennie was Shane's sister.

"Adrian told me about the huge fight you two had before you drove away."

Sherlock rolled his eyes & looked away.

"You have no right to speak to your elder brother like that."

Sherlock glared at him. Who was Shane, to tell him how he can act around family?

"Adrian has been through a lot since he was ten years old," Shane went on. "Do you remember him hanging out with an older boy back then?"

Sherlock shook his head.

"Do you remember a baby? Younger than you?"

Same response.

Shane sighed heavily. "I didn't think so. You were only three when it happened. Plus, you were sleeping in the hay. Adrian told me. We split up."

Sherlock shrugged. His brother losing a lover was not his problem.

"We divided the younger ones between us. It was safer that way. I took Ennie. Adrian took you."

Confused, Sherlock looked up at him again.

"How did Siger & Violet die? A car accident?"

Sherlock nodded.

"No. They were murdered," Shane said. "You were sleeping in the hay in the barn. Adrian was playing around nearby, told to watch over you. Ennie was away at the Nanny's, thank God. I was forced to watch as Siger & Violet were dragged out & shot. They came after me next but I was already fleeing. They were going to kill the entire family, even Enola who was just born a month earlier. I warned Adrian. He woke you up & brought you into the mountains on Mummy's horse. I went for our sister."

Sherlock stared at him in disbelief.

"Does the name Sherrinford mean anything to you?" Shane asked.

Sherlock nodded. Sherrinford was Violet's maiden name before marrying Siger Holmes.

"I was named after her," Shane went on. "Shane is one of my names. I'm Sherrinford. Shane Sherrinford Scott Holmes. The eldest brother by three years. Just like you & Enola have three years apart."

"Ohhhh!" Sherlock moaned, standing up, pulling the sheet he had tied around himself earlier with him. He raised his hands over his head as if to grab his hair but didn't. He staggered backwards from the bed. From Shane.

"So much for the silent oath."

"I kept silent until I got the truth out of Mycroft. Is this truly it? It kind of makes sense. How could he keep this from me for so long?"

"Well, you being young, he took you on a bit of a ride, then to one of our nannies in the country. I bet you & Adrian spent a lot of time with various nannies during your childhood, right?"

"All the time," Sherlock admitted.

"Adrian allowed you to grow up believing Holmes children were raised by nannies; eventually explaining why you never saw either of our parents by passing it off as a car accident."

"He lied to me," Sherlock scoffed. "As usual."

"Better that then the truth for a little kid," Shane pointed out. "How do you tell a babe that he's supposed to die for simply sharing blood of the family?"

"Why kill us all?"

"Just to get rid of us," Shane answered. "They started with our parents. Out in that little grove of trees where Adrian & I found marks of Moriarty's little car."

"We're on the same property?" Sherlock asked. "How did Mycroft end up getting that place back?"

"Me, really," Shane said. "As eldest, I inherited most of the effects with some put aside for the three younger ones. But considering the life I ended up leading, I can never go back. Adrian had changed nannies a few times over by then. Also started going by his second name, Mycroft, as well as started calling you by yours. The new nannies didn't know about two other Holmes children. So I signed my share over to Adrian. Then I disappeared completely."

"With our sister."

"I was passing her off as a cousin of mine at first," Shane went on. "I had dropped the Holmes name. She never knew until recently. In later years, people assumed we were everything from young lovers to father & daughter so we played along with that wherever we moved to."

"You spent time with Gypsies, obviously."

"I didn't like that part," Shane scowled. "Enola did though, so I got stuck with a little Gypsy Princess ever since." He ended up laughing anyway.

Sherlock swayed, reaching out to grab the pole for a moment. "Are our parents actually alive then? I've had people claim death before but actually live. I did that myself."

"Easy little brother," Shane stood up & with a few long strides, caught up to Sherlock. He wrapped his arms around him & pulled him back to bed. "You're still quite weak. Lie down." He pushed Sherlock back into bed & lay down beside him on one side, careful of the welt on his back. "No, they're not."

Sherlock lay quiet for a bit, thinking. "S.H. You're S.H.. Shane … Sherrinford… Scott Holmes. We have the same initials."

"That's right," Shane said. "The papers are official. I made a special copy with the Webdings code for you & Adrian. He'd know of course. For a while, you thought someone was playing a trick on you right? That S.H. was your name?"

"Mycroft asked me if I had made up those papers."

"He did that on purpose to put the idea out," explained Shane. "S.H. Oh, right. Just Sherlock Holmes. Sadly, it didn't work out how we planned it."

"Why didn't you just tell me?"

"Sorry, little one. We had to keep silent."

"What the hell did you & Mycroft do?"

"Like I said, we split up."

"Ah, not a lover."

"Hell no! I'm not into incest!"

"Split up as children," Sherlock clued in. "Two oldest brothers taking the babies & running in different ways to hide."

"Yes," Shane nodded. "We kept you & Enola hidden all these years. Only to have Enola murdered by someone not even a part of this."

Sherlock found he couldn't lie still. Shane was lying close to him, making him overheat from the onslaught of information. He stood up to pace around in front of the bed. "That woman at the pool. She was Enola. You said she was your sister so ..."

"Yours to, yes."

"MY baby sister!" Sherlock grabbed the bars at the foot of his bed for support, realising that he had laid eyes on a sister he never even knew he had for one brief moment. Then Moriarty's gun had taken it all away. "That woman was my sister."

Shane sat cross-legged on the bed. "It's cruel that I got to spend so much time with her but you & Adrian so little. Worse, you have no memory of her. Too young. At least Adrian has that much. Worst still, this is the only time we should ever meet. After all this is over, I'm gone. Understand? You know how to keep a secret. Go back to 221B. Back to John. Lestrade. Let Adrian & I keep you safe."

"John told me that there are some things I can never delete from my mind palace," Sherlock said. "After what you just told me? I believe him. You expect me to go back to my old life & forget I have not one but two elder brothers & used to have a baby sister I only met once? Murdered by no other than James Moriarty?"

"Forget? No. Never. Never!" Shane held Sherlock's face in his hands. "But never mention us, except to John. He already knows I'm your brother. I told him before coming up here. Didn't have much choice in the matter." He rubbed his head & the back of his neck where other welts were slowly swelling.

"What happened to Moriarty? Was his body ever found?"

"Yes & yes he is dead this time," Shane said. "Adrian & I took control of that body for almost as long as you've been out. We ran several DNA tests. We made sure it was him. He's finished, William. Rest easy. He's finished."

"I hate William."

"I gave you that name!" Shane shot back, hurt. "Mummy asked me what one of your names should be. I said William."

"I … I guess I could … learn to like it," Sherlock ground out.

"You DO like it!" Shane glared.

"Where is Enola buried?" Sherlock ignored the glare. "I'd like to visit her when I'm released."

"She isn't," Shane explained. "Not yet. Adrian had her embalmed like Evita Peron. She's here, Will. In the mortuary. We're waiting for you to get better, then have the funeral & then … then I disappear again."

"Why is she in the mortuary if she's already embalmed?"

"Adrian is paying to keep us all together until it's time to go our separate ways again."

"I want to see her."

"You're ill, Willi—"

"I want to see her!" Sherlock demanded. "You can take me."

"Fine, get dressed," Shane stood up.

"I am," Sherlock indicated his sheet, already halfway out the door.

"William!" Shane complained in frustration, hurrying after.

They passed John on the way to the mortuary. He raised his brow at the brothers. Once past, Shane pushed Sherlock forward through the doors of the death.

They crossed the full length of that place & entered another smaller room. A black casket lay on a table. It was inlayed with real gold scallops around the edges. Shane opened it up. Enola lay inside as if she were sleeping. She looked like a Gypsy Princess alright. Jewels adorned her neckline, hands & earlobes. She was dressed in a silk gown, covered over with more than a few of her various shawls. Sherlock put one hand out & touched her hair. He stepped back as Shane closed the lid.

"You're the one that warned me," Sherlock said. "Back in America. When Moriarty first started coming after me again."

"William, it's my fault that man found you," Shane hung his head. "I was following you around. He followed me."

"This just gets better & better," Sherlock said, not impressed at all. He closed his eyes, swaying on the spot.

Shane stepped around the table & caught Sherlock just in time. "You're exhausted."

"Nah, it's just the morphine," Sherlock shrugged Shane off. "I was expecting John to come up right away."

"Morphine?" Shane asked as they left. He held Sherlock close, putting one arm over his own shoulders to hold him up. "I didn't see you on the drip?"

"There are occasions that … rise up … which require morphine."

"Oh really?" Shane asked. "What occasions would they be?"

Sherlock tapped his temple with two fingers, as if he was shooting himself in the head. "Sex."

"Right. Okay," Shane glared. "Back in bed you go, little one."

"I should let you know," Sherlock snickered a bit, falling swiftly on his arse on the side of the bed. "I'm not that little."

"You're as vulgar as Adrian!" Shane folded his arms over his chest. "I was hoping you'd be a bit more normal! Ennie off as a Gypsy on top of it all .Why can't I have just one normal sibling? That's all I ask."

Sherlock scoffed. "Normal's boring."

"I can use boring."

"Would you consider yourself normal by your definition?"

"Hell yeah!"

"Then why should the rest of us be normal," Sherlock lay back in bed. "when you think you're doing a fantastic job of it yourself?"

"Shut up. Just shut up!" Shane patted Sherlock's chest. Both looked towards the door as they heard someone approach. "I'll see you at Ennie's funeral. I'm going to disappear until then."

"Then you can finish telling me your story when the time arrives."

Shane stood up, nodding to John that he can enter. "I am finished, Will. I'll just come back for the funeral. That's it. Then I'm gone. Adrian wants to talk to you."

Sherlock huffed & looked away, muttering under breath, "Oh, dear Lord."

"Silence!" Shane commanded. "I am the eldest brother, even above Adrian Mycroft. You two will speak. That's an order!"

"Yes sir!"

"Hey!" Shane gave Sherlock a short quick smack across the face. Not hard enough to hurt much, but it got the point across. "Take that tone with me again & your arse will hurt so much you won't let him," he pointed at John. "near it for a month! Understand? Well do you?" Sherlock mumbled that he did. "Good. You will let Adrian speak to you. I'll see you later."

Once Shane left, John tossed his shirt aside & got into bed next to Sherlock. He looked at him, trying not to laugh. "What?" Sherlock muttered. "He pulled the 'eldest brother of all' card on me. What was I supposed to do?"

"You should have grabbed his ponytail."

Sherlock thought about that, giving himself a huge mental kick. Oh well, to late now. "Next time."

"So, about my third question," John began. "I thought I had an answer to it but I'm quite confused by now."

"Very well then, what is it?"

"Who is Sheba's mother? I thought it was Clarisse but she's Shane's sister," John paused. "Hey that means she was yours to."

"Who's Clarisse?"

"Francois said she was his daughter," John went on. "She had a little girl with her. Sheba."

Sherlock sat straight up. "Francois has no children. What was Enola doing over there posing as his daughter?"

"I don't know," John said. "But anyway, she's clearly not Sheba's mother."

"No, she isn't," Sherlock agreed.

"So third question," John repeated. "Who is?"

"You kept the attachment," Sherlock said. "Her picture has all her names on it. It should tell you everything."

"Yeah, about that," John frowned, his day-old whiskers prickling forward. "Sheba discovered how to make my life miserable by using the mobile. It got deleted before I could read the rest of the names. I only checked quickly on the ship. Thank God! I just caught her first two names."

"Sheba was taught the basics of a mobile just in case. She learned a few months ago how to dial 911." Sherlock paused before asking. "How did you get off that ship in time?"

"We played hide-n-seek," said John. "I pretended to look for her in the closet, only to find a bomb in there. I threw her out the window into the water & jumped in beside her."

Sherlock placed hands folded under chin. Mind Palace. John waited nearly ten minutes before a response came. "Sheba's cabin was password secured three times over."

"I know," John began. "By the way, I'm going to kill you later. Just saying."

"Why?"

"Hamish for a password?" John glared. "Do you have any idea how hard that password was for me? It was a real shot in the dark that time! Almost literally."

"I knew you'd figure it out," said Sherlock. "You mentioned Hamish to Irene & I once as a baby name." John could only glare as Sherlock went on. "Three passwords. Three guards went through them with you, yet there was a bomb inside Sheba's cabin."

"Two guards." John interrupted. "One of the Canadian ones stayed on the docks."

"All three were supposed to go down with you," Sherlock sighed. "What did that one look like?"

"Older than the other two," John explained. "He had a cap on but I think he had grey hair. The other two were a little surprised that he stayed behind but didn't discuss it so I thought maybe he was the commander."

"Was one of the guards a woman?"

"No, they were all men. Why?"

Sherlock entered the Mind Palace again for a few more minutes. "The three guards work for François. Two men. One woman. All around our age. That old Canadian was not supposed to be there. He must be the one that got into Sheba's cabin to place a bomb there. Moriarty's man, not ours. I'd bet he is still alive."

"Jim is dead. Trust me."

"The guard."

"Right. But how could he get in without codes?"

"He either forced the woman to work for him, or broke in earlier when my first mobile was compromised. Before we changed all the codes."

"If he's still alive, you think he would go after Sheba?"

"Possibly. Her Mummy is Irene, of course," Sherlock changed the subject, lying down again.

John looked at him. "Sherlock." He stopped, not to sure how to proceed at admitting a lie. "She's uh … Mycr…. She's dead."

"I know she's dead."

"Ok."

"You & Mycroft thought you lied to me when in fact, you told me the truth," Sherlock went on. "Why do you think I demanded her mobile after Mycroft himself betrayed her & she nearly lost her head? I kept in touch with her on & off all this time. I was the one who was hiding her."

"You knew about that terrorist gang?"

"I WAS that terrorist gang," Sherlock corrected him. "Ask Mycroft what happened to them all. He wouldn't be able to tell you other then they all lost their heads. I burned everything after so no one would know that a woman was… not… one of them. I know how to use a sword."

"You beheading people. Right. Like I can believe that."

"Believe what you will," Sherlock shrugged. "They're just terrorists. No body cares about them & the less the better. Besides, that was nothing compared to all the blood Mycroft has on his hands. More so than I thought it seems. Or yours for that matter."

"Sherlock—"

"Oh come on, Watson!" Sherlock interrupted. "You're a murderer yourself, are you not? The cabbie on our first case together. It was cold-blooded murder. By YOUR gun!"

"No it wasn't. It was in defence of you!"

"I was defending Irene," Sherlock said. "That cabbie wasn't your first kill either, was he? How many people have you killed? Or watched die?"

"That was war!"

"Exactly, a war on terrorists," Sherlock pointed out. "If more people found out what I did that night, I'd probably get a medal. But I don't care about those things. The only thing I was concerned with at the time was who warned me in the first place that Irene was in trouble at the time. Certainly not Mycroft. He wanted her dead. Paid that gang to get rid of her. I found the receipts. THAT is why I didn't want Mycroft in on this when I returned. Sheba has Adler blood. I don't want Mycroft getting ideas. But that all blew up in my face it seems. Quite literally with at least eight bombs. Two in the Tube & six on the cruise."

"Well you had even me fooled," John said. "I certainly thought Mycroft was telling the truth. He was since he didn't know any better."

"That's the way it was supposed to be," Sherlock turned to lie on his side, curled around John. "When I went into hiding myself & stayed with Irene, we both tried to find out who warned me but came up with nothing."

"Mycroft would never hurt Sheba," John spoke again after a long silence. "You should see those two together. They're adorable."

"That will change when I get out of here."

"Sherlock."

"I don't trust Mycroft!" Sherlock thumped the pillow between their heads with one hand. "He nearly got me killed with James Moriarty. He tried to kill Irene. Now this with my other brother & my sister. I will never trust that man again. Sheba is not to be left alone with him, understand?"

"Alright." John gave up, hoping things would work out on their own.

"The best thing that could have happened was that Sheba messed up your mobile," Sherlock went on. "You couldn't work out who her mother was. Perhaps this is one last secret I can keep from Mycroft. That's probably why he's attached to her. He doesn't know she's an Adler. I intend to keep it that way."

"Yes, alright!" John was getting impatient. "We'll keep Sheba safe." He rolled over, half-covering Sherlock in a lopsided hug, trying to calm the man down. He caught sight of none other than Mycroft Holmes standing in the doorway. John decided that he had never seen a more broken-hearted man in all his life. Mycroft shook his head at him & left quietly. So much for secrets in this family! John didn't mention it. Mycroft wouldn't hurt Sheba. He just wouldn't! How could he?

Mycroft sighed heavily before sliding into the back seat of his limo. Sheba was lying across the seat in front of him, sleeping. She woke up at the sound of the door closing. She sat staring at him, Honky-Tonks upside-down in her lap so the webbed feet hit her chin. It was unnerving how much like a straight-haired Sherlock she looked with that gaze. Mycroft took a picture with his mobile & then flipped through it until he found a file of old pictures. Finding one appropriate to show the girl was hard but he soon was able to locate Irene Adler in a simple white dress. "Sheba is this your Mummy?" He held out the mobile so she could see the picture.

"Daddy says so," Sheba nodded excitedly at seeing a picture of her mother. Then looked up at him. "Uncle Adri, am I bad?"

"What? No!" Mycroft laughed. "No."

"Then why do you look mad?"

"I'm not," Mycroft said. "Sad is more like it."

"Why?"

Uh-oh! He had gotten her stuck on the why questions. This could go on for a few rounds. "Because I made a mistake with someone, uhh, someone important to me & I don't think I can undo it."

"Why?"

Here we go! "Because I ended up really hurting this person without meaning to. Sheba, no one is perfect. We all make mistakes but there are times a mistake is just too big to fix." Mycroft tapped the dividing window between the back & the driver. "221B."

"Why we going to my house?"

"I'm sorry," Mycroft truly was. "I know you were supposed to come play with Lady Saffie for the next few days but I have something I need to do first. For now, it's probably better if you stay with Mrs. Hudson." Sheba looked crushed & Mycroft didn't know whom he hated more in that moment. Himself or Sherlock. It had to be himself. His fault that Sherlock wanted nothing to do with him any more. His fault he was losing Sheba tonight. Sherlock didn't want him around in his one & only niece's life. "You'll come out there in a few days," Mycroft hoped it wouldn't end up being a lie. "Lady Saffie will be waiting."

Mycroft carried the girl inside, surprising Mrs. Hudson at being back late that same night he had taken her away. "Don't forget carrots, Uncle Adri," Sheba mumbled half-asleep.

Mrs. Hudson put her down & then came back into the kitchen. "What happened? I thought you were going to start riding lessons with her?"

Mycroft hesitated before answering. "I'm uh, I'm not allowed."

"Not allowed?"

"I was looking for a friend of mine," Mycroft said, referring to Shane. "I overheard Sherlock telling John that I'm not supposed to be left alone with Sheba. He doesn't trust me at all."

"That's ridiculous," Mrs. Hudson said. "Sheba adores you."

Mycroft barely managed to say, "I have to go." With an even voice. He turned & left without another word. He didn't go home. Instead, he told his driver to head to Cardiff. It was a long drive & Mycroft felt bad at making the poor man drive still, this late at night, but he needed to see Shane. Once in Cardiff, Mycroft stopped in front of a hotel. "Charles, I'm not going home tonight. Use the hotel in my name. I have to go somewhere."

"You're not supposed to be running around at night unprotected," Charles glared.

Mycroft opened his coat, exposing his firearm. "It's just for a few minutes. I'm going to the next street." Charles was not happy at all. "Don't worry. I'm meeting up with a partner. I'll be fine."

Partner. This wasn't the Jag, so an actual partner in self-defence & combat perhaps. Good. Charles was only half-satisfied with the answer but what could he do? He was just a Limo driver. "If I don't hear from you by eleven in the morning, I will kill you myself."

"Caring as ever," Mycroft teased. "Holmes attitude is rubbing off on you."

"Yes it is," Charles retorted. "Get out of my sight!"

"I'll see you at eleven," Mycroft started walking.

"Uh-huh!" Charles really didn't like this at all. He watched the Master for as long as possible before bothering to retire to the hotel. Once inside, he continued to watch Mycroft using the street cameras by breaking into them via the computer in his room. There was a reason one was hired to the Holmes staff. Overprotective. He watched the Master right up until he was crossing the lawn to the cottage before he was satisfied. Charles shut everything down & finally went to bed. "Not bad for a driver," he muttered to himself as his head hit the pillow.

Shane opened the door even before Mycroft landed on the last step. "I was waiting for you."

"I messed up."

"I know you did," Shane pulled him inside. "William really hates you now."

"I know."

"Your fault."

"I know!"

"So fix it."

"How?"

Shane glared at Mycroft. "How do you think? You have the most vital ammunition to win William back. I suggest you use it."

"I have to speak with someone first then."

"Already done. We're all in agreement," Shane sat back in the armchair, arms spread out. "Mike! He is the only brother you have left. FIX HIM NOW!"

"I'll try but it might be too late."

"It's never too late."

"He wants to separate Sheba from me," Mycroft finally broke down. "My only niece. He wants me out of her life."

"You broke his trust."

"I KNOW!" Mycroft shot back. "For God's sake, Sherrinford! Stop pointing out all my mistakes with him I already know."

"Like I said, fix William," Shane repeated. "You know what to do."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Quick Disclaimer<strong> note:_

Enola Holmes is a name I caught in passing. Though not an ACD character, she is apparently a baby sister of the Holmes family, even younger than Sherlock. Created by author Nancy Springer. I at first was going to research the character to death but then decided not to for fear of ending up merely copying instead of actually writing. She is a Gypsy though, I saw that much go by.

Sherrinford Holmes is also a name I caught in passing. Created by Baring-Gould. Again not an ACD but there is apparently a hint of an elder brother above Mycroft or else due to certain rules/etiquette of country squires in that era, Mycroft apparently could not be where he was in some of the stories. Off the estates with Sherlock. Hence Sherrinford, freeing Mycroft and Sherlock from the obligation of following Siger as country squires of the estates. Also, "Sherrinford" was the original name for Sherlock himself before ACD picked the latter.

Siger/Violet: Neither mentioned in ACD canon but Violet seemed to be a favorite of ACD & seems to be accepted fandom fact. The only hint of Siger we have is "derived from "The Adventure of the Empty House", in which Sherlock tells Watson that he spent some time pretending to be a Norwegian called Sigerson, which Baring-Gould reads literally as meaning "son of Siger."

(Also, Sherrinford had a significant role in the _Doctor Who_ crossover novel _All-Consuming Fire_ by Andy Lane, which also featured a cameo by Siger. So here's hoping that Sherlock BBC picks it up ...)

**William** Sherlock **Scott**Holmes: Names in bold are not mine either. However "Shane" & "Adrian" are as I could not find "full names of ...character..." when researching whether or not Sherlock had more than two names. Not ACD but some sort of "Diogenes Club" online thing popped up as well as a chart depicting a Holmes family tree, among other links. I usually use something like this if i see it on 3 different links lol

Good, ok. that covers all but one name which I'll add in the next chapter. Don't delete me please? "whimper"


	23. Chapter 23

(Sheba is based on a real life girl at/near to the same age the time this was written; daughter of a freind of mine at work. Not kidding! Everything she says is is nearly word for word. Everything she does, apart from something to do with a gun in a later chapter (in real life it was her mother's 250 CAN $$ waterproof camera she destroyed grrr), is also basically copied from actual stories the mother tells at work. "Sheba" itself is not the real-life name of course for safety's sake. Like I said, this was all originally supposed to be a S/J only one-shot, but the stories my friend relates to us was to good to pass up & it just kept growing from there. LOL)

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><p><strong>(23) Homecoming<strong>

Mycroft decided to wait until Sherlock was well enough to leave the hospital. It wasn't until nearly a week later. Mycroft visited twice during that time, both by John's side. They exchanged a few glances & even less words. Sherlock still had a few weak moments. He was supposed to stay longer but the medical staff quickly learned to hate Sherlock when the suggestion was offered. A Sherlock Holmes who did not get his way was not the kind of Sherlock Holmes anyone, not even John, wanted to be around. He didn't want to stay any longer. He wanted to go home now & that was final! When Sherlock finally arrived at 221B in the early evening, he was assailed by Mrs. Hudson & Sheba at the same time. He could barely get through the doorway.

"It's about time," Mrs. Hudson fussed. "Things would have been downright dull around here if it weren't for Sheba. Sherlock, you sly old dog, you!"

"Like you haven't produced any children," Sherlock replied, finally making it through the door after stumbling over Sheba at least three times.

"I have a few & some grandchildren too," Mrs Hudson said.

"Perhaps they could be playmates for Sheba," Sherlock tried the stairs but John pushed past him.

"The flat's been changed around since you've last seen it."

Sherlock scowled up at him. "Changed around? How?"

"I have your bed," Sheba pointed upstairs.

"I was planning on doing that," Sherlock admitted as he reached the flat at last. He rarely needed a bed. When he did, it was either the couch or with John now.

"There's also this," John indicated the mounted cabinet. Sherlock nodded approval as John turned has attention to something else. "As well as that. A small cooler on top of the fridge for all your … stuff."

"Why would we need that? The fridge is fine."

"No it isn't."

"Yes it is."

"Little children put everything they can into their mouths," John crossed his arms. "The cooler stays. Trust me, you'll want your own space." Sherlock's gaze swivelled between John & Sheba a few times & then finally the cooler. He'll have to think about that one. On closer in section, he found it to be locked as well. John handed over a key. "Cooler for experiments. Fridge for everything else."

Sherlock noticed his remaining China teacups sitting on the counter. He headed for them to put them away. John & Mrs. Hudson herded Sheba into the living room. They were about to sit down when Sherlock screamed. "YEOWCH MY ARSE! JOHN! GET OVER HERE!"

John ran in Sherlock's direction just in time to see him swish his hips back & forth like a mad porcupine. Some snarly thing flew off. John caught it. "Easy now. Easy! Shush Gladstone."

Sherlock rubbed his behind with both hands, glaring. He pointed accusingly at Gladstone. "What is that thi—"CHOMP!"—"OW!" He pulled his finger back sharply.

"Gladstone!" John smacked the dog's ears. "Bad. I told you Sherlock would be coming home. Be nice."

"What is it?"

John grabbed the scruff like a mother & held the snarly devil out. It was a miniature Doberman Pincher, & honey; it pinched like a bitch! Sherlock continued to rub himself with one hand, holding his bitten finger to his chest, as John finally answered. "It's a dog."

"Yes, of course I realise it's a dog." Sherlock glared. Gladstone returned the glare, fangs bared in an ugly smile. He hung from his scruff under John's hand, all four legs splayed out with claws protruding. Clearly a male dog, Gladstone hiccupped, licked his fangs & went back to snarling. "We did not agree to this."

"Yes we did," John pressed, cuddling Gladstone to his chest. "You were passed out in the hospital. Perfect time to have a conversation."

"Get rid of it!" Sherlock hissed.

"I will not!" John snarled about as much as Gladstone. "Besides he isn't mine. He's Sheba's. We rescued him from the ditch. He was all battered & abused." He held the dog out again. More snarls. John quickly tucked Gladstone under his chin. "Must be something about you he doesn't like."

"Feeling's mutual."

"Though you do stink of hospital sterility," John went on. "Have a shower. I'm sure you & Gladstone will be the best of friends after."

"I do not require any more friends," Sherlock finally stopped nursing himself. "They're nothing but trouble!" He turned away, mobile in hand as it had started ringing.

Immaturely, John stuck his tongue out, making a grotesque face, when Sherlock couldn't see before stomping back into the living room with Gladstone. The three—four counting Gladstone—heard Sherlock put his cups away, then start a shower. By the time he got back, Mrs. Hudson had gone downstairs.

Sherlock sat on the couch, attempting to fold hands under chin but Sheba climbed up beside him & curled up, head in his lap. Sherlock switched his position to put his hands on the girl instead. "It's tomorrow. Mycroft is sending a ride."

Enola's funeral. John pushed the dog to his side on his armchair. "Do you want me to watch Sheba then?" He knew Sherlock wouldn't bring the girl.

"No, I want you with me," Sherlock said. "You're allowed. Sheba can stay with Mrs. Hudson for the day, possibly overnight."

"Alright," John sat back, one hand on Gladstone's head. He noticed that the dog was no longer growling at Sherlock. "Will Shane be there?"

"Yes," Sherlock said. "Mycroft has secured the cemetery where she'll be buried & the building nearby for a service. Very small. Only us, Mycroft & Shane will be there. It's as close to traditional Holmes-style as we can get."

"Which works for you," John muttered.

"Quite well," Sherlock glanced down at Sheba who was wiggling around to get more comfortable. "I never understood the fuss of these sorts of things. I'm merely going to get a few more answers out of either Shane or Mycroft. But I will get them."

"Of course you will," John half-wondered if Sherlock even realised that this was his sister. Of course, he knew the technicalities. Same parents. Shared blood. But beyond that, what did it matter? "What sort of questions?"

"Like what Mummy & Daddy were doing to get themselves killed. Who killed them & why are Shane, Mycroft & I all marked even though we were just children. I was only three when it happened." Sherlock had told John what he had learned from Shane so far during his last days at the hospital.

"By the way," John interjected, casting a glance at the girl, hoping she wouldn't understand what she was hearing. "You told me that your China set was a gift from your Mummy when you were twenty. She died when you were three?"

"It is from Mummy," Sherlock looked pointedly at him.

John took a long time to figure it out. "Oh." His shoulders sagged. "I get it. Oh, Sherlock! I'm so sorry I broke them." The China belonged to Violet Holmes. Probably one of few things Sherlock had left of his mother & John had started the set on its path to destruction it seemed.

"Mycroft finally let me have it when I was twenty," Sherlock said. "It's alright. I still have a couple of cups left. Plus all the saucers. The plates too."

"It's still ruined." John wondered if he could feel any more horrible right now.

"Just don't break any more," Sherlock ordered.

"Who's Mycroft? What a funny name!" Sheba suddenly giggled.

A second went by. Sherlock, then John, spluttered into a fit of giggles themselves. "She's right!" Sherlock finally managed to say.

"That's Uncle Adri," John added. "Mycroft is another name for him."

"Is he coming over?"

"Not now," Sherlock went suddenly serious.

"But—"

"Sheba-Marie! He's busy right now," Sherlock hushed her. "Now, do you want to spend a day with your Grandmamma?"

"Only if Uncle Adri does to," Sheba pouted.

"He knows her," Sherlock pushed the girl aside so he could stand up. Gladstone's head went up from dangling over the edge of the armchair's seat, glaring. "Roll over! Play dead."

BARK!

"I said play dead. Not speak! Honestly John. If you want to keep the blasted beast, TRAIN it!" Sherlock went for the door. "Mrs. Hudson, Sheba will stay with you tomorrow."

"That be lovely!"

BARK! BARK!

"Would you like a dog too?"

"Not permanently," Mrs. Hudson wasn't fooled.

Sherlock closed the door. He headed for his old bedroom. Gladstone jumped to the floor & trotted behind, snarling very low but Sherlock still heard. He waited until that mutt was close enough, then slammed the door on Gladstone's little black, wet nose. The yip of pain nearly gave him an orgasm he was that satisfied at repaying the mutt pain for pain!

The combined disapproving voices of "Sherlock!/Daddy!" were ignored. Stupid dog! Sherlock took about fifteen minutes to pack a small bag, taking his time so he wouldn't have to face Gladstone so soon after whacking his nose. When he came back out, John was sitting on the couch instead, Gladstone asleep at his feet. Sheba was lying on the floor with a picture book, Honky-Tonks tucked under her throat. She stood up to watch him.

Sherlock put the girl's bag on the floor near the door, then turned to confront her. Sheba had two …problems. Unpacking bags to put useless things like toys in them was one of them. He had to break that one out of her sooner than later. "Sheba-Marie, do you see your bag here?" Sherlock pointed down to the little red & green bag by his feet. "Do not touch it. Understand?"

The little girl blinked at it, then look up at him. "Why?"

"Because I already packed it & I don't want it to be undone."

"Why?"

Sherlock glared at her. "Because it took me enough time & I have work do. So I don't want to pack this again." He made as if to step away.

"Can I—"

"MAY I!" Sherlock corrected.

"May I put something in?" The little schemer.

Sherlock stopped moving as John pushed his laptop aside to watch from his position on the couch. "No."

"Ca—May I take something out?"

"NO!"

"May I pack my favourite toy?"

A moment of silence passed. "Mmm, maybe later. For now, don't touch the bag. Repeat after Daddy."

Sheba glanced at her bag then back at Sherlock. Clutching her plush Canada goose tightly under her chin, she stated clearly, "Repeat after Daddy."

John bit his lip so hard to keep from squealing in laughter at Sherlock's face that he tasted his own blood. Sherlock meanwhile, was starting to shiver with impatience, yet he somehow managed to keep his voice flat. "What did I just say?"

"What?"

Sherlock sighed heavily. "Do. Not. Touch. This. Bag!" He pointed firmly at the bloody thing. "Now, go to bed. Remember, Mummy said not to get up before 7 AM." He herded the girl to her bed, his old room, before she could ask any more questions. John tried to stifle a snicker but Sherlock heard & glared at him. "Go to bed, John!"

Never in all their life together did Sherlock once order John to bed. The good doctor took advantage of that fact & fled for his room. Perhaps this one night he would actually sleep instead of work with Sherlock's twisted scheme of things

Several hours later, Sherlock was lying on the couch in the dark, staring out the window. He had his violin in hand & plucked at a few strings absent-mindedly while thinking.

"Daddy?"

Sherlock groaned. Mind palace. Do NOT interrupt the mind palace. He must remind her of that fact. Wait, what did she want anyway? "What?"

"I didn't touch the bag."

A long moment of silence passed before Sherlock raised his voice enough to wake John. "You entered my mind palace just to tell me that?"

"Yes!" The sheer innocent arrogance of that girl.

"Why?"

"I put Honky-Tonks on top of it but I didn't touch the bag."

"You touched the bag!" Sherlock suddenly shouted, louder than before. John sat straight in bed, listening.

"I just put Honky-Tonks there!"

"You still touched the bag!"

"No I didn't, just put Honky-Tonks on top!"

"You still touched the bag," Sherlock repeated. One moment. "What time is it?"

Sheba brightened up. "It's 7 AM!"

John glanced to the pitch-black window. It was too dark to be that late in the morning. "Oh, no," he whispered to himself as Sherlock shouted again.

"IT'S 4.35!"

It was all John could do to keep from bursting out laughing. He shoved his face into the nearest pillow.

"We can watch TV until 7 AM," Sheba went on hurriedly. "Daddy can watch one thing. Then I can."

Sherlock snarled, thumping one fist on the violin itself, making it twang with a hollow sound. "If the TV is going to be turned on then Daddy will watch it all the way to 7 AM!" A beat went by. "Go back to bed." Another pause. Gladstone barked. "NOW!"

"But—"

"Don't make me put my violin down & get up, Sheba!" Sherlock threatened. John could just imagine Sherlock brandishing his bow at the girl. "Don't make me do that. Now go back to bed & stay there until seven! Goodness me, what would your Mummy think?"

John hacked & choked, trying to shove the pillow more & more into his face. He heard thumping of little feet as Sheba stomped back to bed. A few moments went by. John thought all had been settled but suddenly his door burst open. "Oh stop laughing, Watson. You're not setting a good example for that child!"

The door slammed shut as John looked around. "You could hear me?"

"Half of England could hear you," Sherlock retorted. He opened the door again. "You might as well get up. I put on the tea." Again, the door closed with a small bang.

Later, well after seven in the morning, Sherlock finally had the girl under control & brought her downstairs to Mrs. Hudson's door. "I see you put your new drapes up today." He glanced down the hall into the living room as soon as she let them in.

"Oh yes," Mrs. Hudson gushed. "I hung them up this morning since I was up by around 4.30." Sherlock didn't have anything to say to that for once, but he did cast a glare at Sheba. Mrs. Hudson went on, "My hip'll be bothering me all day for it though, but it will be worth it." She then turned to the child. "Hello, Sheba. Are you ready for a day with Grandmamma?" Sheba nodded as Mrs. Hudson pointed to a table under the window where the new snowy white drapes were hung. "I bought a new crayon set for you. Go try them out." Sheba smiled & ran towards the living room as Mrs. Hudson led Sherlock & John into her kitchen.

"You sure it'll be no trouble?" John asked.

"Oh, I'd be delighted to have the child over for a bit," Mrs. Hudson said before teasing. "You two have fun with Mycroft." She didn't know about Enola or Shane. John had merely told her that Mycroft needed them both for some matter of business. Knowing at least that Mycroft worked for the government, Mrs. Hudson didn't ask questions.

"It won't be fun for him," Sherlock muttered. He had plans of assaulting Mycroft the first chance he got for his answers. "Then I can come back home & start working for Greg again. That wire cleared everything up. But he really shouldn't have needed it in the first place."

"Sherlock," John rolled his eyes, passing over a cup of tea as the three of them made their way into the living room.

Sherlock was the first to enter. "Sheba! What are you doing?"

Sheba turned away from the not-so-snowy-white drapes & stared in surprise. "Coloring."

"Not the drapes!" Sherlock's glare alternated between her & the drapes now adorned with the entire rainbow spectrum along the bottom. Sloshing his tea all over the place, John nearly did a pirouette to avoid seeing the situation. Actually, he was trying to hide the biggest, stupidest grin ever on his face.

"Oh, my goodness!" Mrs Hudson gasped.

"What are crayons for?" Sherlock demanded.

"Coloring," Sheba said again.

"Obviously, but coloring what?" Sherlock pressed, pointing at the table where the crayons, not to mention a few blank sheets of paper, lay.

A pause. "Paper?"

"Exactly! So why are you coloring the drapes?"

"They're new."

"Obvious again, but that does not answer my question!"

"Crayons are new. Drapes are new."

A fraction of a second went by. "You thought you could use NEW crayons on NEW drapes?" Sherlock fumed. "Is THAT how your sense of deduction works?"

"Yes," Sheba whimpered.

"What is WRONG with you?"

"What?"

"You are too old to be doing things like that!" Sherlock advanced on the girl. "How old are you?"

"I don't know!"

"Yes, yes, this fact is obvious," Sherlock muttered.

"I'm sorry," Sheba murmured, sniffling & looking at the floor. When Daddy over-used the word obvious or something similar to it, she knew she was in trouble.

"You're not sorry!" Sherlock snarled. "Not yet," he suddenly smiled evilly. "Ask John for a bucket of water with a rag & start scrubbing those drapes. Then you'll be sorry." John, trying to stand in the corner to look innocent, looked up at the mention of his name. Why was he always dragged into these things anyway? "Well, go on then!" Sherlock snapped at the poor child. "You can pick up that spilt tea at the same time." As John set the little girl to the task of cleaning up (both messes, starting with the tea), Sherlock turned to Mrs. Hudson. "Are you sure you want her for today?"

"I'll handle her," Mrs. Hudson's lips were set in a straight line, though from impatience or laughter Sherlock did not know, for once.

"She is twice the trouble her Mummy ever was!"

"That's because you make up the other half," Mrs. Hudson stated, ignoring the look.

John set a water bucket on the table & turned to leave as Charles had come to the door, looking for them. Gladstone trotted in & took up residence on the windowsill like a cat to look out.

"Sheba-Marie," Sherlock got down on one knee & held out his hands. Sheba glared at him, holding back a sniffle. "Come here. I don't have all day now." She threw the cloth at the bucket. (It landed on the floor instead of in the water.) She stomped over. John watched as the two touched foreheads together. "I will see you tomorrow." Sherlock stood up & left.

"Tomorrow Daddy," Sheba went back to cleaning.

John was the last to leave. It was the first time he had witnessed Sherlock truly interacting with his child for longer than a minute as a visit in the hospital. Of course, they had been together a while before this, only being separated for a few months. They would have developed some strange bond by now. John realised that both Sherlock & Sheba were somehow … trained … to respond to each other. Irene must have made them behave. Now in memory of her, they tried to keep it that way. John had a good idea if just how she would make at least Sherlock behave. He smiled to himself. He knew where Bach's riding crop was if he ever needed it.

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><p><em><strong>Quick disclaimers <strong>_**notes:**

Ok I lied. I have two names to kill here, not one. Gladstone is obviously not mine. The Robert/Jude movies were my first for Sherlock. So I changed the breed. Shoot me.

ANYway, Sheba-**Marie:** Marie is not actually mine either. Sheba's full name will be revealed later but Marie is for Mrs. Hudson (also explained later but in case people pick it up now, I'd better do this now.) I was planning on naming the girl after a few of Sherlock's friends, Mrs. Hudson included. That said, I was unaware that I had to mention this at all. Later, I decided to check to see if Mrs. Hudson actualy had a first name. Turns out there is none in ACD fact; however, Marie seems to be an accepted fandom name for her, hence why I have to do this. But yeah, seriously! How freaky is that? "hides"

Ok NOW I'm done. Before FF (dot) net asks me why I don't have these name disclaimers here & previous chapter at the begining of story/chapters...uhhh spoilers? Hello? Again ... shoot me!


	24. Chapter 24

Ok, it is actually 5.30 AM! Believe it or not, the thing to send a casket down is actually called a "lowering device"

"head/wall" How lame is that?

Also, apparently the UK hold the casket on their shoulders. I originally had them carrying it by the handles.

Benny boy is exactly 6 feet...the depth of a grave. Fortuantly, the lowering device holds the casket a bit higher or this scene would not have worked for me at all.

Yes, I've been researching Great Britain's death rites for this ALL NIGHT LONG. I hope you Brits appreciate this! GRRR

"goes to bed now"

Seriously, SHOOT ME!

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><p><strong>(24) Exposed<strong>

The limo pulled up the driveway to a small building on one side of the road. On the other lay a cemetery, a guard in each of the three gates leading in. Sherlock recognised Avery & Simone, two of Mycroft's favourite guardians. An open grave surrounded by yellow ribbon so no one would walk into it lay waiting.

Charles opened the back door to let first John, then Sherlock slide out. "We all know who she is," he said. With a nod in Sherlock's direction. "My condolences about your sister. I wish she was left in our care."

"I recently found out about her myself," Sherlock wondered if they knew about Shane now to but didn't ask just in case.

Sherlock led John up the stairs. John felt around in his coat, then checked his pockets. "Sherlock, I can't find my wallet or mobile anywhere."

Sherlock paused on the last stair, opened his mobile & called someone. After a few minutes, he said in an oh-so-sweet voice. "Why hello daughter of mine! How are you? Liking John's mobile are we?"

"Hi Daddy."

"We'll discuss this later. Again!" Sherlock wasn't fooled. He closed the mobile. "Sheba has them. She's a bit of a … pickpocket professional." That was the second problem he tried so hard to break her out of. John couldn't help but laugh as they entered the little church.

Enola's black & gold casket lay closed at the other end. Sherlock's eyes scanned over it. John wondered if that was his way of saying goodbye but noticed that Sherlock's gaze didn't stop with the casket. He ended with a glare at Mycroft. Even Shane, who was standing behind Mycroft, stepped back.

"We'll talk later," Mycroft spoke quietly as Sherlock stepped up close to him, nearly nose to nose. They continued to stare into each other's eyes as Sherlock manoeuvred himself around Mycroft to sit down on the front chair. Shane sat down beside him once Sherlock stopped glaring at Mycroft.

John sat behind Sherlock. No way would he put himself between that man & either of his brothers right now. Shane was no longer a problem to him but the pure venom between the other two was enough to make anyone flee.

John watched the service in a haze. It wasn't long, barely half an hour but it was enough for him to observe. It was quite clear that Shane was Sherlock's replacement for Mycroft. The two of them got along fabulously. Mycroft stayed away, looking rather left out but saying nothing. In fact, Sherlock seemed to make a point of ignoring Mycroft. John knew it was the only way that Sherlock could behave otherwise, without risking a heated discussion during the service itself. Once over though, John knew that would change in a heartbeat. Sherlock was merely biding his time. A quick glance at Mycroft told him that he knew as well.

Shane & Mycroft said a few things about Enola, mostly to tell Sherlock some little story of her. The three brothers soon turned to John. They had taken up residence by the four railings as pallbearers. One was left open. John got up to take the front right one, beside Sherlock holding the front left. Shane stood behind John with Mycroft on his side.

Enola was smaller than John, Very light. The four men lifted the casket, paused, then placed one hand underneath to hoist it higher onto their shoulders, releasing the handles themselves. Being the shortest, John had to hold one hand above his shoulder to support the thing but at least they were not going to far. Another pause, then the four of them stamped the left foot harder on the floor, standing straight. Finally, they moved forward, bearing her out.

They carried Enola Violet Scott Holmes to her final resting place, positioning the casket across the straps of the lowering device to send her down after Anthea & Sandy pulled the ribbon barrier away. John was halfway through thinking it was the shortest funeral ever; though, he knew that was for Shane's benefit more than anything; when everything went horribly wrong.

"Master! Run! Run now!" Simone's voice screamed. Mycroft turned just in time to see her run through with a curved sword. She dropped to the ground.

Mycroft closed his eyes for one moment. Each & every staff member who was here had been told what to expect. None of them had been ordered. Not this time. Coming to guard, or even drive, was voluntary. The next moment, he shoved passed John & promptly kicked Sherlock's legs out from under him. Sherlock went down with a sickening thud. Another kick sent Sherlock disappearing under Enola's casket into the grave before anyone could blink. Mycroft pulled out two guns & with Shane moved forward for a fight. Anthea & Sandy scattered for cover, both holding guns of their own.

It had all happened within a mere second or two. One moment they were about to send Enola down, the next they were fighting for their lives. John ran ahead & sideways, ducking between tall old tombstones. He knew why Sherlock was thrown into the grave. Mycroft was his protector. A quick scan told the war doctor all he needed to know. Mycroft & Shane had every intention of pushing the assassins back. Perhaps to the building. The where didn't matter so long as it was away from the grave.

Away from Sherlock.

Holding his SIG-Sauer up, John moved forward, firing a shot that nearly hit Avery but went straight between the eyes of the man just behind. Avery rolled sideways & fired at someone aiming for Mycroft. John soon realised two things. There were a dozen or more assassins coming out of nowhere it seemed. The Holmes were armed to the teeth. From Shane he didn't know what to expect, as he never really knew the man, but Mycroft? After that day, John never looked at Mycroft in the same light again.

Both John & Mycroft had driven three killers into the building. Mycroft entered first. He had already taken down one by the time John arrived from behind. Mycroft didn't seem to notice John. He tried to fire again but his pistol was empty. John was about to raise his own gun to help but Mycroft moved with the speed of a demon.

Pistol dropped. Hands snapped open. A dagger slide down from each wrist. The blade on each of them was painful to even look at. Each had an edge as jagged as the Rocky Mountain peaks of the Americas. Watching Mycroft use them, somehow understanding that the man knew exactly how to use them to cause the most pain with the slowest death possible was worse.

Mycroft tore through the stomach of the nearest attacker, spun around to jam both blades into each eye of the second one, then spun back to do the same to the first victim now on—on her knees! John realised it was a woman.—trying to hold her womb in. The last thing she saw was two bloodied silver jagged edges plunging into her head.

With an almost bored attitude, Mycroft slit—ripped through rather—the throat of the other person. The cut looked sloppy but John knew that it was done on purpose. The man dropped beside the woman still gagging on the floor. It would take both of them several minutes to die.

Mycroft crouched on his toes beside the woman. "Which one are you for? Hmm? Which one? Enola? You missed. Jim beat you to her. Sheba perhaps?" The woman heaved & gurgled but could do nothing to stop or speed up her death to end the pain. Mycroft turned to the man with an open throat. "And which are you? Sherlock? John? Oh yes! I know you're including him in this mess by now. Believe me I know." Mycroft leaned forward to snarl. "I'll drag all of you down to hell with me before I allow another of my family to die. Do you understand? You people will never have Sherlock or Shane or any more of them. Never!" He paused as the woman squealed helplessly. "Oh just die already!" Mycroft stood up & kicked her damaged womb. She screamed in pain. Why couldn't she do as Mycroft asked? Mycroft glanced over her, reaching down to give one breast a squeeze. "Firmer than usual. You're pregnant are you? " Mycroft leaned down & sliced across her breasts. Blood & a lighter substance oozed out. Milk. "That's for Enola." At the same time, he plunged the other dagger into her split womb once more, twisting it around. It made her squeal like an animal in a slaughterhouse whose turn was happening right now. "That's for Sheba." He stood up. She'll die faster now.

John shrank back into the shadows. This was not the Mycroft he knew. Not the man-whore who always belittled Sherlock's virginity or childishness. This Mycroft was a monster. He was covered in the blood of two different people (three counting the foetus) but never made even one attempt to wipe some of it off. He had butchered a pregnant woman alive. She still writhed on the floor at his feet. He terrified John who stayed hidden behind a stack of pews. John could see it in that man's eyes. Mycroft … enjoyed inflicting torture. Enjoyed killing.

John closed his eyes, telling himself silently over & over that Mycroft was only defending Sherlock. Himself. Sheba. The things one would do to protect someo—it wasn't working. Mycroft was a horror not to be crossed. John's heart pounded. He covered his mouth with one hand, trying not to make a sound. He wished he was back in Baskerville with the illusion of rabid hounds. That was nothing compared to this. Mycroft was very real. The hairs on John neck stood on end as he suddenly thought the worst of it. Mycroft had done his slaughter … right here in the small church. On supposed sacred ground in a house of God. Nothing deterred that hunter!

"Adrian, where are you?" Shane's voice sounded & John felt so happy yet scared at the same time. What would Shane think if he saw what Mycroft had done? Should he go out to stop him from coming in? Too late.

"Over here," Mycroft called.

Shane appeared, glanced over the two dying on the floor & back at his brother. "Had a little fun did you?" He asked nonchalantly. John felt himself shaking. Shane didn't care either!

Mycroft shrugged it off. "Two less for us all to worry about. We've been preparing for this since we were kids."

"I know," Shane grabbed Mycroft's hand, over the bloodied hilt of the even bloodier dagger. "Come on. We must draw them away from William & John. We've gotten rid of the ones who saw you throw Will into the grave. The others don't know where he is as they all seem to be following me instead. I think I'm next Adri."

"We won't let that happen!" Mycroft exclaimed angrily. "Not one more of us dies. Not for a lie like that!" The two of them ran outside through the back door.

John collapsed, gasping for breath. He wondered what lie they were talking about. Still shaking, he checked his gun. A few bullets were left. John got up & stumbled over to the two lying on the floor. Two shots mercifully ended their suffering at last. John hurried away before Mycroft caught him in the act, deciding that it was better not to find out if Mycroft would have approved of the mercy-shots or not. Most definitely not. He had to get back to Sherlock. Get him out of here. John slowed his pace, ducking behind a moss-covered old angel. How could he tell Sherlock of the savagery of his brothers? Should he even bother? Sherlock would definitely notice something wrong with John at one look. Then John remembered Irene. Was Sherlock just as bad? Would he even care? Perhaps he already knew what Mycroft was capable of. John glanced ahead across the full expanse of the cemetery to the black casket in the distance waiting to be lowered. Sherlock was under that. He noticed a shed nearby & headed for that to look for either a ladder or a rope to lift Sherlock up.

Sherlock felt the ground slam into him. Twice. He found himself at the bottom of a deep hole. Looking up he saw Enola's casket above him, outlined with the blue of the sky. "Mycroft? Shane! Bring me up!" Shots were fired. He heard shouts & gunfire from all directions, yet here he was in a grave unable to help. He glared upward. How dare his brothers throw him out of a fight? He was no child! Sherlock felt under his coat until he found his own sidearm. Fully loaded. Useless. "John?" No answer. The war sounded more distant as they had moved away from him. Save for the rectangular line of blue above him, Sherlock was in total darkness.

Sherlock lay with his back against one wall. There was nothing he could do now. Occasionally, the blue winked as shadows passed. He heard calls of two women. Anthea & Sandy. They were nearby shooting down those who came near the grave, keeping anyone from discovering its little secret. Sherlock Holmes lay at the bottom out of sight.

Eventually the sound of fighting moved farther away. Even the women could no longer be heard. Had they moved with everyone else? Where they dead? What about John or his brothers? Sherlock sighed, frustrated. It could be a very long wait before anyone noticed that a casket had yet to be lowered. He suddenly stood up again, the casket just two or three feet above his head, held up over the 6-foot deep grave by the lowing device. He heard voices of two men nearby. The blue winked out permanently on one side as they came to stand near Enola. Sherlock could just see outside the edge of the grave if he stood back to look up at a slight angle.

"This was my original target," one man said.

"Enola Holmes?"

"I wouldn't have killed her," the first man admitted. "She was only one month old. I wanted to take her & raise her for my own."

Sherlock heard the lid being opened. He tried to keep his breath slow. If he was heard, there was no place to hide in an 6-foot deep by 3-feet wide rectangular hole.

"Pity really," the first man went on. "She could have had a good life. Lots of babies. Oh well." The lid closed again. "My new target is Sheba Holmes." Sherlock listened intently. They were after his daughter now? Don't move. Don't make a sound. "I nearly succeeded."

"You infiltrated Moriarty's men," his friend said.

"It was nice to find an outsider who was also after Sherlock Holmes," the first man explained. "He didn't have a clue. I was able to pose as a Canadian guard. I set all the bombs for Moriarty. Suited me just fine but it didn't work."

Sherlock gripped his Colt in both hands & lowered it. This was that old Canadian guard at the docks. It had to be.

"Better posing as a Canadian than an American," his friend teased.

"Not really. If I have to say 'Eh' one more time, I'll nuke that country into next year!" The man laughed. "Come on. We should leave while the others are busy in the church. Sherrinford & Mycroft are not our targets."

"John Watson is mine," his friend said. "I'll see you—AH!"

Sherlock had fired, hitting the man in the ankle, shattering it. Enola's casket was lifted at one end & thrown aside but he was ready. He looked the first man in the eye as both pointed guns into each other's faces. Sherlock fired & ducked at the same time. The man's body came tumbling down into the grave, along with Enola's casket. Sherlock crouched at the end of the grave as the casket landed on end then lay back along the wall in a crooked diagonal heading upwards. He climbed out, using the handles as steps, finishing off the second man as he came up. Scanning around, he saw several dead bodies littering the ground from here to the church. None was Mycroft's apart from Simone as far as he could see. Holding is gun firmly in both hands, Sherlock moved forward towards the small church, using tombstones for cover. He had to find John & get him out of here.

"Area secured, Mister Holmes," Sandy said as Sherlock came up the few steps leading into the church.

"Master Holmes & his partner were last seen inside the building," Anthea added.

Partner. Shane must be posing as a lover then. They didn't know. Sherlock nodded & turned to look down at the limo. Charles stood beside it, arms & ankles crossed, as he leaned back a bit over the bonnet. He had a gun in each hand, a very smug look on his face & a broken bloodied front bumper. "All assailants down, Mister Holmes." Sherlock nodded again.

There had been just over a dozen of them it seemed. They had come here in a swarm, thinking to bring down upto four people. Mycroft. Shane. Sherlock. John. There was a slight hitch in a plan like that.

Holmes were armed to the teeth.

Mycroft would never keep a simple kitchen maid or a mere driver. Any member on staff was an agent under cover. Only Mycroft & Sherlock knew that fact. Any last one of them was capable of dropping their façade to show their true colors at a moment's notice, able to defend him—or her—self in a heartbeat.

The Holmes themselves knew combat tactics & carried weapons. Mycroft had sent Sherlock to various classes learning everything from bartitsu to fencing to boxing to a few others. He had gotten Sherlock into the habit of keeping something on him at all times. A gun perhaps, or his little dagger sheaved in his boot that not even John knew about. The sheaf itself was a material to hide metal so Sherlock could pass through metal detectors with ease, compliments of Mycroft's career. As Sherlock took one last survey before entering the church, he understood. This was why Mycroft had forced him through all those classes. This was why Mycroft had made him keep the knife on him at all times or even a gun. Mycroft had known all along what may be coming & had tried to make Sherlock as prepared as possible just in case.

Holmes truly were armed to the teeth, not just in weaponry but also knowledge & skill.

"Damn you to hell Mycroft!" Sherlock hissed under breath. What did his brother do that everyone was still marked for death to this day, even Sheba? He entered the church at last, immediately wishing he hadn't. The savagery that met his eyes was almost too much for even him to bear.

Sherlock closed his eyes to try that again. More prepared, he opened them, now expecting the massacre spread out before him. The man & woman were cut open, quartered & finally shot through the head. Sherlock had the uneasy feeling that they suffered a lot of torture first. Looking at the wounds, Sherlock could envision the blade that caused them.

Small like a scalpel. But jagged edge. Very rough. Brutal.

On closer inspection, he saw the milk. The woman had been pregnant on top of it all. Sherlock found the bullet in the floor near the man's head. It had gone right through. Point blank range. He picked it up, then nearly reeled from his feet. "John?" He could recognise Watson's bullets anywhere. No way in hell was Dear Watson that savage!

John shot the cabbie driver to protect a man he had not even known for a day. He didn't seem all that put out by it afterward either.

John shared his fascination with police cases. Why? Did he truly enjoy seeing the death & blood? Sherlock himself didn't like the murders themselves. Sad thing for people to die, especially in some of the ways he had seen. But Sherlock was attracted to the mystery. The clues. The ultimate justice of catching someone, proving his supreme cleverness not even God could beat. Not the blood & death. Bringing those killers to justice gave peace to the families. But did it really bring that sick twisted thrill to John?

Not long after he had first brought John home to 221B, Sherlock had received a call from Mycroft asking about John. Mycroft had told him then how he had kidnapped John to inspect him. Besides teasing the war hero about a happy announcement, he had also mentioned not only to John but to Sherlock that John was not affected by the war. He missed it.

Sally worried & fretted so much that Sherlock would be the one to put a body down some day that she had warned John against him. Could it be that she should have warned Sherlock against John instead?

Sherlock let the bullet roll off the palm of his hand & leaned over hands on knees. "No, no. Not John. It can not be him." Something was horribly wrong with this picture. So why did everything fall into place, so right?

His Mind Palace flooded him with more. John had jumped Moriarty while having a bomb strapped to him & several sniper dots on them. The cuts to the womb. To the breasts, releasing the milk. John was a war doctor. A doctor could easily know how to slice up a woman like that.

War. John was ultimately a soldier. He killed plenty. He had bad days; admitted that fact himself. Worse days to. Look what happened to Arlin. Conveniently, that was an accident … or was it?

"Stop it. Stop it." Sherlock muttered to himself. "You're obviously missing something. Dear Watson is not like this." He stood straight & headed for the back door. It was his job to bring down such monsters. He refused, for once, to believe what his deducing mind was telling him. For the first time in his life, he rammed shut the door to the Mind Palace, bolted it with every mental padlock he could think of & threw away the keys. He would not enter that. Not right now. It was wrong. This was not John!

Where the hell was that monster?

* * *

><p>(Ok my friend's daughter doesn't do the pickpocket thing. That's an add-on based on the movie version of Irene Adler. lol)<p> 


	25. Chapter 25

**(25) Farewell**

"Carlotta confirmed it," Mycroft said. "All are down. The place is secured again."

"We should get William up then," Shane said.

"John's doing that," Mycroft led the way down a small hill behind the church where a stream flowed. "I have to clean up a bit before Sherlock sees me. He doesn't know all what I do."

"You kind of scared even me, Adrian," Shane admitted, helping Mycroft strip down almost completely. He lay the bloodied tuxedo aside, pulled out a lighter from his pocket & set it on fire. He turned to Mycroft who was now naked in the late afternoon sun save for a band on each forearm, holding the daggers.

Mycroft stepped into the stream & lay back to submerge even his head. The current ran red. Shane reached into the water to shake out Mycroft's hair of the blood. Mycroft sat up. "I've done worse, believe it or not."

"I believe it," Shane gripped Mycroft up the arm, past the dagger strap & hefted him up. "It's how you move up so fast in the Secret Service. You do what needs to be done. Get information any way you can. No one needs to know how."

"I'm working up to him," Mycroft said.

"I know," Shane hung his head for a moment. "You're getting so close, Adrian. Be careful."

"My boss is an old sod who started all this," Mycroft shook his hair. A twig snapped. Both brothers turned around, suddenly silent. A deer leaped over the stream to flee wildly across the ground. Mycroft went back to cleaning up but Shane kept his eyes on the three large trees nearby. Someone was there. "I have enough evidence to prove him wrong by now."

"Sh," Shane shushed. He nodded to the trees.

Mycroft looked again, seeing someone disappear behind the farthest tree. "Shane," he pulled his eldest brother close & whispered in his ear. They both smiled wickedly. Mycroft stood in the water as Shane knelt on the side, wetting his hands. He rubbed Mycroft down, removing any bit of blood left. "You know—dear—you are supposed to be playing my lover right now. Act like it."

It was all Shane could do to keep a straight face. Both firmly kept their eyes away from the trees as Shane washed down Mycroft's inner thighs, taking his time until Mycroft actually gasped with a violent shudder, then stood up. "If you insist—honey." He swaggered around Mycroft, passing a hand over the younger brother's chest until he stood behind in the current. Shane stooped down to scoop more water in his hands.

Mycroft leaned down to whisper, "Do you have any idea how confused John will be?"

"Don't make me laugh you idiot!" Shane hissed back. Both fixed their faces & stood up again, Shane dumping water in Mycroft's hair.

John had found a rope to haul Sherlock up but when he got to the grave, he had found Enola's casket jammed inside it & two dead men. No Sherlock. John had been searching around in the shadows, hoping to catch perhaps Shane to inform him of Sherlock's disappearance. Not Mycroft. Never again would he look that monster in the eye without cowering. He had barely noticed two people go down to the stream & followed.

Only to find Mycroft stark naked in the water, just coming up with Shane's help. John could only watch as the two of them started to get closer than what should be allowed between brothers of blood. Mycroft stood with one leg slightly bent, resting on a stone under the water as Shane rubbed down his inner thighs. Mycroft suddenly gasped & shook with the touch. John swayed in the trees & tried to hide better. Sherlock touched him like that. John gritted his teeth. Darn Demis didn't need sex that much. He would have to compromise & wait a bit for Sherlock's sake. In the meantime, no harm in looking at other male Holmes flesh. Just looking, of cou—WHERE did that thought come from? John cross-rolled his eyes. This man was a brute.

Not to mention naked but for a dagger per arm (which did not help John at all even though he knew what those daggers were for), fit & completely turned on standing in water. Wet (in more ways than one no doubt) & glistening in the sun. Curse Sherlock for bringing forth his masculine fantasies! John watched as Shane rubbed Mycroft's hair. Mycroft shook himself, drops of clear & red falling into the stream. Mycroft's whole body seemed to shiver & shimmer & oh dear Lord! John had to get out of here fast! John checked himself. Sherlock was his lover. Not Mycroft. True? Yes. But a Holmes man overall was quite attractive. True again right? Yes. No wonder he was attracted to Sherlock. Related to this? Holmes magnetism ran in the family. John banged his forehead to the tree trunk. What the bloody hell is he thinking? He was screwed. After this, he most certainly would never look at Mycroft in the same way again. He finally forced himself away.

"There he goes," Mycroft nodded.

Shane instantly dropped his hands from Mycroft's shoulders. "Good because I was beginning to question the fact that we're related."

"Really?" Mycroft smiled slyly.

"Oh shut up!" Shane reached under the bush & pulled out a new tuxedo. He left it on the ground near Mycroft's feet. "You told me to get this out of the car for you. Get dressed."

"Just when things were getting interesting," Mycroft pouted, doing as he was told. He turned his back to Shane & bent well over to pick up his shirt. Shane rolled his eyes skyward. "Liked what you saw?" Mycroft stood straight, pulling on his shirt. Hard to do since he was wet.

"Will you hurry up?" Shane snapped. He kicked the smouldering pile that was Mycroft's first outfit into the stream to put it out. He grabbed Mycroft's hand once he was dressed again & yanked him along. Ahead, John had slowed to a stop & fussed with the rope as if he had seen nothing. The elder brothers caught up to him but said nothing as the three of them crested the little hill & headed back to the church.

"Shane. Mycroft. Step away from that war doctor now!" Sherlock ordered them, aiming his gun.

Aiming right for John between the eyes. "What?" More importantly, 'That war doctor'?

Shane & Mycroft stepped sideways a bit, looking just as confused. John watched Sherlock, not believing what he was seeing. Sherlock was going to shoot him. Kill him!

"What are you doing?" Shane asked.

"This man, this soldier is not what he appears to be!" Sherlock took a few more steps forward, eyes never leaving John's face.

John closed his eyes for a moment. Sherlock had seen everything. He must have. He was jealous? That was not very … Sherlockian … of him. Besides, shouldn't he be threatening Mycroft or Shane for that if he was? He opened his eyes, meeting Sherlock's. "I was onl—"

"Silence Watson!" Sherlock shook his gun at him. "I saw what you did. You can't deny it. They're your bullets."

Mycroft & Shane both looked up in horror.

"W-What?" John stammered.

Sherlock was now three paces in front of him. He spoke quietly though everyone heard. "Who are you? Really? What do you want?" His eyes were calculating. Judging. The Sherlock Scan had never been more accusing before. He gripped his gun firmly with both hands.

John gritted his teeth. Sherlock stood before him, a slight breeze lifting his curls & tugging at the open ruffle of his white shirt under the dark velvet vest. John could see the top of Sherlock's bare chest whenever the breeze pushed the material aside. The vest hugged Sherlock, showing off his form. Images of Mycroft naked in the water flooded him, only this time he replaced that man with Sherlock. He shivered, not from cold, but from the passion that had been fired in him moments before yet still would not go away. Now was not the time. Now was not the place. "I want to go home, Sherlock. I just want to go home." John cast a worried glance at Mycroft.

"Sherlock," Mycroft began.

Sherlock brandished the gun at him, then turned back to John. "I have had people threaten both my brothers. My daughter. Even you, Dear Watson. Today. I want answers. Now. No more secrets. No more lies." He took a step closer to John. "It's ok, Watson. Just tell me. What did you do in that church? Why? I may yet let you live."

"The church?" John choked back a sob. Idiot! He shot those two to end their misery. Sherlock must have noticed the bullets. Idiot! IDIOT! "Sherlock."

"That wasn't him," Mycroft began.

"It's just me," Shane cut in. "I do that all the time."

"John just fired mercy shots into them afterward," Mycroft added.

"I said no more lies!" Sherlock turned the gun on Shane, then Mycroft. Then back to John. "You murdered that cabbie."

"What?" John gasped.

"You aren't traumatised by war. You miss it."

"Excuse m—Sherlock no!"

"You even threatened the Golem," Sherlock went on. "You said 'I WILL kill you!' You meant it to."

"Only to spare you!" John defended.

While Sherlock's back was turned as he threatened John, Shane grabbed Mycroft's wrist & squeezed, releasing a dagger. He pulled it off & held it out. "Look at me, little one! See? It's me! William it's just me."

Sherlock turned to glare, then noticed the bloodied dagger. John saw that it wasn't as stained as before, having been submerged in water. "The bullets are John's."

Avoiding Mycroft's gaze, John said, "When I entered the church, I found them like that. I couldn't save them so I put them out of their misery. That's all it was." He hoped Mycroft didn't know that he had seen everything.

"That was very careless of you Watson!" Mycroft retorted. "What if you met more killers & you were short two bullets? Then what?"

"He's right," Shane added. "You're a soldier, aren't you? They were dying anyway."

John wanted to say it was because he was in too much shock at the time to think. He had just witnessed a savage attack. He was terrified of Mycroft. But that was the crux of the matter. Mycroft. Explaining why he had no sense that moment might risk Mycroft's wrath. "I'm a doctor. My oath is not to cause suffering." Dear God, why is Mycroft staring at him like a hawk eyes a mouse? Did he know the truth? John tried to pretend he didn't notice Mycroft's gaze.

"Next time you sho—"

"Shane, shut up!" Sherlock cut in. "John is my mate. Go find your own!" He rounded on John. "Both my brothers are right though. What were you thinking?" He put his gun away. He turned back to his brothers. "Mycroft that is not the tux you were wearing as pallbearer. Why are you wet?"

Mycroft pointed accusingly at Shane. "He pushed me into the stream. This is my spare from the limo's boot."

"You deserved it," Shane laughed turning back for the church.

"I'm telling Mummy!" Mycroft grumbled, following.

Sherlock turned back to John. "And they call me childish."

"You can be," John teased. He put his hands on Sherlock's waist to pull him close. "Are you alright now?" The soft touching of Sherlock's body against his own reminded John of the heat he was in, adding to it even more desire. Great. What a fix he was in now!

"Oh, I'm fine," Sherlock said, absent-mindedly staring over John's head to the trees down by the stream. "Come with me." Sherlock grabbed John's hand. He led him into the church, then pushed him into a confessional.

John soon understood what Sherlock meant by coming with him. "I know what you Demis are like. We don't have to do this now. I can wait."

"This isn't sex," Sherlock undid John's zipper & began to force both John down into the seat as well as the trousers at the same time.

Mycroft & Shane stared as they heard a gasp from John. The confessional stand swayed to the wall & hit it with a thud.

"Sherlock!" John yelped as he felt Sherlock attempt to take his length into his mouth.

"What? I can't have you incapacitated at a time like this," Sherlock complained. "This won't take long." He tried again.

"Ok!" John's breath caught in his throat. He put one hand on each side on a wall of the confessional. It shook with him.

Shane had a huge smile on his face. "Do they even realise we're standing right here?"

Mycroft covered his face in one hand, trying very hard not to burst out laughing. The confessional thudded again as John half-called out Sherlock's name, half-gasped for breath. "I don't think so!" He gave up trying not to laugh. Shane grabbed Mycroft, clapping a hand over his mouth.

"What did you do to get so hard on an occasion like this?" Sherlock's voice suddenly asked.

"Gods WILLIAM! Don't stop!" John snarled. "I was almost done to."

"Oh fuck!" Shane doubled over, gasping.

"Sorry," Sherlock muttered, going back to work.

"You do know this is our fault, right?" Mycroft whispered between tears.

"Yep!"

The old confessional thudded in the opposite direction against the next wall. It was very fortunate that it was in a corner a bit. Shane & Mycroft clung on to each other trying not to make a sound from laughing so hard.

"My sides," Mycroft moaned, clutching a stitch. Shane merely fell flat on his face on the floor, curling his hands into fists.

John suddenly uttered a few gasps & Sherlock's usual name. The confessional shuddered & was still. Mycroft fell to his knees then did a face-plant into Shane's back, he was shaking to much from laughing to stand. The two elder brothers sat up, clung to each other & tried to stand.

"There you go Dear Watson," Sherlock said. "The doctor has been doctored." He stepped out of the confessional like nothing happened, carrying the rope. Both his brothers were standing again, faces contorted like grotesque masks. "Told you I wasn't virgin." Sherlock picked up his coat from where it had been lying on his seat since the start of the service & put it on. He turned up the collar as he shoved past between his brothers. John stepped out next.

"That was awesome!" Mycroft purred.

"I told you he was a squealer," Shane remarked to Mycroft the moment his merry eyes met the soldier's horrified ones. It was too much. Both sank to the floor again, crying. John re-entered the confessional, cheeks flaming. He tried to shut out the horrid laughter with his hands over his ears.

"I want a chance at him!" Shane gasped.

"John or Sherlock?" Mycroft panted beside him, wiping away tears.

"Both!" By now they were shrieking while rolling around on the floor right under the pulpit.

John pinched his ears until he felt pain. Why won't they shut up? He hated Holmes. All of them. Even Sherlock half the time since he was such a pain in the arse. He will never come out of this confessional for as long as he lived!

By the time Mycroft & Shane had recovered their wits & moved to the front porch outside to let John be, Sherlock was standing in Enola's grave, tying rope around her casket. Anthea & Sandy stood topside. Anthea caught the other end when Sherlock threw it out. He came up to help both women pull his sister up.

Mycroft watched a moment longer as Sherlock reset the lowering device, then glanced at Shane. No one could have known that the elder brothers had been dying of laughter just minutes before unless they had witnessed it for themselves. The look between them was anguished.

It was time for Shane to leave.

Sherlock returned to the steps of the chapel, the two women behind him as Mycroft said, "Send in my Cobra." He lowered his mobile, closing it, his eyes never leaving Shane.

"Where's John?" Sherlock asked more to break the awkward silence then anything else.

Mycroft looked around. He had almost forgotten everyone else. "Still inside. We need to leave now. Anthea. Sandy. Get in the limo. Avery?" He called to the man sitting on the ground next to the stairs, his head in between his knees. Avery looked up. "You to. I'll bring Simone home." He added more gently. Avery nodded & without a word, ended up being the first in the car. Simone had been his wife. Anthea & Sandy were right behind him, leaving the three brothers alone.

John came out at last, his eyes landing first on two now-covered corpses near the front of the church. He swallowed, knowing he'd have to pass those. Dead ahead was Mycroft with his brothers, standing just out the door. He slowly moved forward, overhearing the conversation. He felt more than heard the vibrations of a helicopter.

"Shane. Sherlock. Look upon each other for the last time," Mycroft stepped away, heading for the place where the flat helicopter would land. "I need to get this mess cleaned up. Say your goodbyes. But hurry."

"You're leaving now?" Sherlock stepped up closer to Shane.

"I must," Shane took his youngest brother's hands into his own. "Adrian will meet you at …at home." A home he could never return to. "He'll explain the rest. What you've been waiting for."

"If we can stop these killers for good, can you come back?"

"William, I can never come back," Shane dropped the hands & held Sherlock's face instead. "Due to the life I ended up having. I'm an assassin myself. A paid killer. Quite expensive one at that. I've even tortured a few to death, for an extra charge. I have the death penalty over my head in almost every country from here to Canada. That's probably the only country I'm safe in since they don't have that punishment. In fact," Shane checked his watch. He laughed derisively. "I was supposed to receive a lethal injection not even twenty-five minutes ago in the American State of Utah. They're probably wondering where the hell I am."

"My job is to bring down people like you," Sherlock stated flatly.

"I know," Shane smiled at him. "Another reason I must stay away. As I've said before, you can get me killed. But we can't have that. The Holmes family turning around & killing each other? That's exactly what certain people want. People worse than me."

"Both my brothers are dangerous men," Sherlock went on.

"We all are," Shane admitted. "Even you when you want to be. Hey now!" He forced Sherlock to look him in the eye by grabbing his chin. "You need have no fear of me. I could never hurt you or Adrian for any price but my own life. Same with Sheba. So long as I don't hear a complaint coming from you about Watson, your little war doctor is safe to. One complaint. It'll be free of charge."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"What the hell …" John grumbled to himself. "Thanks! Little lover."

"Shane?" Mycroft appeared again. The Cobra was just coming in to land. "It's time."

Shane whimpered, then broke down completely. "Oh God, Sherlock. Come here!" He used the preferred name as he grabbed Sherlock in a tight embrace, surprising him. Sherlock gingerly returned the hug. One just does not go around grabbing Sherlock Holmes for a hug usually, but he let it slide this time. Shane pushed away. "This is for John." He handed over a large yellow envelope. "This is for you & Adrian. But check it first by yourself. There's a little something taped inside just for you. Burn it after you've both looked through it. I suppose you can have John around at the time." He gave Sherlock a small brown package. He touched Sherlock's cheek. "Fare well, little brother."

Shane hurried down the steps, reaching for Mycroft's hand. The two of them ran for the helicopter, only letting go to move to opposite sides to get it. Mycroft sent the pilot to the limo for a ride back to the property. Sherlock looked up & saw more helicopters starting to come in. Mycroft had called them about the mess on the ground but they could not discover Shane. Mycroft himself was a pilot. He flew off as Shane strapped himself in.

Sherlock watched the sky, eyes on only one helicopter up there. The Cobra. John came up beside him. "Shane's gone?" Sherlock nodded. "Sherlock, about what just happened in the confessional …"

"Did I hurt you?"

"Not that," John smiled at the concern. "Your two brothers were there the whole time."

"I knew that," Sherlock admitted. "They were ahead of us, moving for the church. It's quite obvious where they'd be."

"You knew they—" John stopped for words, looking peeved.

"So? Not like they don't know about it," Sherlock headed down the steps after an angry honk from Charles. "Besides, they're just my brothers. We share flesh & blood. They're a part of me."

John could only stare. For some reason, that was the most romantic thing he had ever heard Sherlock say. Dumb-founded, he followed after.

"So," Sherlock began, hand on the lever to open the door. "Did I hurt you?"


	26. Chapter 26

**(26) The Ruse**

Sherlock sat alone with John in the common room of the Holmes estate. They had decided to look at Shane's gifts while waiting for Mycroft to return. The small package was a photo album full of recent pictures of Shane & Enola. No wonder they were supposed to burn it afterwards. Sherlock flipped through each page, looking for tape. He finally found what he was looking for on the inside of the back cover. He pulled it off.

"That's a key?" John frowned at it. "Wonder what that's for?"

Sherlock smiled child-like. "This isn't just a key. It's a Lamborghini key! Now I just have to find out where he parked it."

"Good, because I still haven't driven one yet," John stated matter-of-factly, earning a scowl.

"What's yours?" Sherlock changed the subject, adding the key to his chain in his wallet.

John narrowed his eyes. He was not to be sidetracked. He ripped open the envelope & dumped out the papers on the coffee table in front of them. "These are the files on … well, the files."

"The men who forced me," Sherlock filled in what John couldn't say.

John scooted sideways on the couch until he was pressed up next to Sherlock's side. He locked their arms together, running his hand along the inside of Sherlock's biceps down to his wrist. Then held onto his hand. "Yeah. All of them."

Sherlock looked down at their clasped hands. John responded to the slight movement by turning his head to touch their lips together. Sherlock did not pull away so John rearranged himself to kneel over Sherlock's lap, one leg on either side of his hips. John suddenly stopped & glared at the door. Then checked all around behind & to the other side. "Just making sure." He kissed Sherlock again, harder than before.

"I've walked in on Mycroft in the act with both men & women more times than even I can count," Sherlock replied when John broke off for air. "I've seen Bach mate with all the Ladies in the field at one time or another. Sex isn't that big a deal, contrary to what Mycroft thinks."

"That's why you sassed back at him in the palace," John said. "You really don't find sex alarming at all."

"No," Sherlock agreed. "Just boring for a daily routine."

"Yes, yes I know," John half-smiled. "I'm sorry. I keep coming onto you without even planning it." He tried to get off.

Sherlock held him in place. "I said you can do what you like when you like. I'll respond when I feel like it."

"Oh yeah?" John teased, pushing his tongue into his cheek for a moment. "Let's experiment then." He shoved Sherlock sideways until he was lying down. He lay over him, pressing down with his hips for a moment, then moved one hand down to rub Sherlock. "You like that?"

Sherlock fixed his eyes on the high ceiling. "I'm starting to."

"Good," John leaned forward to kiss him again. Slowly but surely, he felt Sherlock began to respond. He began to move his hips against John's rubbing hand, becoming hard. John paused to work his hand inside, earning a very low gasp. He used his nails to grate against the hot aroused flesh, pressing in lower to touch as close to the inner thigh as possible. Sherlock suddenly pressed his legs together, catching John's fingers in between. He half-sat up & went stiff before gasping out in John ear. He lay back, head pressed against the arm of the couch, arching his back & then went still. John retrieved his crushed fingers from Sherlock's trousers. "Hmm, how did that one feel?"

"Perfect," Sherlock muttered under breath.

John leaned forward to whisper, "You deserve no less." Sherlock actually smiled for a moment a John fished around in his pocket until he found a small bottle. "Here, I found these for your headaches afterwards." He handed over two pills, then reached for Sherlock's water glass sitting on the table.

Sherlock down everything in one shot, then lay back again, rubbing his forehead. John lay curled up over him once more. "It drives Mycroft insane that I'm not into sex as much as he is. But he really doesn't understand why I have very few lovers."

John's eyes snapped wide open. Lovers. Plural! "What do you mean?" Wait, that word was in Sherlock's vocabulary?

"Only two people are allowed to handle me like this," Sherlock explained. "You & Irene. She's dead so just you. I have always wanted two lovers. One man. One woman. Irene & I found each other. She chose you."

"What does THAT mean?" John sat up, straddling Sherlock over his hips.

"You remember I told you, I was planning on kissing you anyway?" Sherlock asked. "That first time when Mycroft brought up the subject. I rode away after."

"Yes."

"You know what Irene's idea of sex was," Sherlock went on. "While we were together, she often lamented that you weren't with us. She wanted to make us do things to each other & to her. She made me promise to go back to you some day soon."

John buried his face in one hand. "Irene Adler set us up? What is she, some sort of match-maker?"

"Only for me," Sherlock said. "A very good one I might add."

"Hmm," John lay the side of his face on Sherlock's chest. "Good point."

"You do understand though right?" Sherlock went on. "Why I'm not so sexual, unlike Mycroft."

"Well yeah, you're a Demisexual," John said. "According to the internet, you don't need it much & you need a ...need a bond with whoever you're with." It felt about as strange using the word bond when referring to Sherlock as it was to hear Sherlock say 'lovers' a moment ago.

"Correct," Sherlock pushed John off so he could sit up.

John watched in surprise as Sherlock turned his attention to the papers. Sherlock had … agreed with him? Agreed about some sort of emotion? It was said that one's entire life flashed before their eyes at the moment of death. In this moment, John's life flashed before him, not his entire life, just from the moment he first laid eyes on Sherlock Holmes leading right up to now. The way he moved. Inspected things. Rattled off deductions that are so obvious yet everyone misses them. Drugging him with H.O.U.N.D. as an experiment. That damn vest with the open ruffled shirt underneath. Sherlock had a similar vest when they had met Moriarty by the pool. The risky fall from the rooftop, done to spare John's life as well as others. The way Sherlock looked on a horse. Bach's plunge down the cliff as Sherlock simply lay back, wind of air & speed pulling the hair of both horse & rider forward, yet pushing it back at the same time. John remembered how his heart had leapt the same time the silver stallion did at the top of the cliff, for a moment they had been poised in the air with nothing but hundreds of feet below them. Sherlock seemed to fly with it. The way he touched foreheads with his child was the sweetest thing John had ever seen. He even carried a casket with elegance. He had threatened to shoot John, yet gave time for an explanation. John recalled how Sherlock looked then, the wind playing with his hair & ruffled shirt under a dark velveteen vest. The man was beautiful, yet John was just realising this now? "I love you."

Sherlock looked up from the papers & sat with one leg under him, staring at John. Unblinking. John felt his face burn not from embarrassment but from terror. He had said the wrong thing. In that moment, he lost his life. Sherlock would reject him. Why did he say those three stupid words?

"Ah, so you do understand," Sherlock grabbed John's chin, forcing eye-contact. "My love." He pulled John closer, kissing him.

John could not believe what he just heard as he melted into that kiss. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock, pressing his hands against the shoulder blades. When they finally pulled apart, both their lips were bruised.

"I've never heard you say such things before," John said after a moment. "You don't use the word love lightly."

"No, I don't," Sherlock agreed. "As I've told Irene, people think I don't get it. Too complicated. When in fact it is quite simple. It either works or it doesn't. I do not play the game like most people do. Like Mycroft. He is the best player. I do not care for subtle hints or beating around the bush. If someone is meant to be together with another then they should just come together and be done with it. If they are not meant to be together then they should go their separate ways."

"Why do I get the feeling that you are talking from experience?" John sat back.

Sherlock pushed the papers into a pile before answering. "When I first started working as Consulting Detective, there was one on the force who like you, was amazed at the little things I do. She followed me everywhere, much like you. A bit annoying at times but I let her be. We worked rather well together. I was just beginning to think that she would be the woman but then I walked in on her with another man. Normally, I wouldn't care but that time, it was after she had recently expressed an interest in me."

"She went behind your back."

"Worse," Sherlock said. "She was trying too hard to get me to like her."

"Ah, she thought she could make you jealous by being with someone else."

"Precisely. She was playing the game."

John shook his head. Whoever it wasn't didn't know Sherlock half as well as she claimed. Simply being with him was enough. There was no need for jealousy. "Is she still on the force?"

"They both are," Sherlock said.

"Wh—" John thought a moment. No way! "Anderson & Donovan?"

"Yep."

"No wonder you three hate each other!"

"I don't hate her," Sherlock defended. "If she wishes to be an idiot & fool around then that is her prerogative. I simply disregard her as she did me. She repelled me."

"Once a cheater always a cheater," John said.

"I don't know about that," Sherlock shrugged. "But I don't fall for mind games such as wooing a mate. That is another reason why I laid claim to you. Get it over with. There is no need for dancing around. We are either meant for each other or we're not. No lies needed."

"How did you end up with Irene then?" John asked. "Forgive me but … she was a trained whore. I mean no offence but that's what she was."

"Yes but I knew that from the start," Sherlock pointed out. "She never lied about it. Also, she was like that long before we ever met. It was Sally's lie & sneaking around using another man to try winning my favor when she already almost nearly had it that I did not like."

"I always felt something was off when we went on that first case together," John shifted to sit pressed up against Sherlock's side again. "Sally was so hateful about you after you left. I couldn't understand why but I decided I didn't like her all that much from the start"

"She wasn't always like that."

"Sometimes it takes a while for one's true colors to show. She just wasn't a true friend," John paused before asking, "Is that why you said that you considered yourself married to your work when we first met? You had just broken up with someone."

"No on both," Sherlock answered. "I have not broken up with anyone as we were never together to begin with. Besides, what had happened between the three of us was two years before I ever laid eyes on you. I'd have been over it by then anyway. I am married to my work. Sally was & still is unfortunately, part of that work so she was a suitable partner. Until she ruined everything. Her loss. You are into the same work I am which also makes you a suitable partner. You in no way interrupt my work."

"Irene wasn't though," John pointed out.

"No, but being with her while under cover these past few years worked for me just fine," Sherlock explained. "That was one reason I was able to be with her. We were both in hiding. With her intelligence matched with my own, we were able to keep one step ahead for a while. Then there is her dark attraction to what some people may consider unusual sexual activity, not the boring kind."

"She dominated you."

"A few times over."

"Soooooooooooo, uh, did she ever make you beg twice then?"

"I wonder what Shane is doing right now?"

"You really are an idiot at times!" John laughed so hard he nearly fell off.

"It isn't funny."

"Not for you but who cares about you right now, EH?" John rested his forehead on Sherlock's shoulder. He could feel the glared but ignored it. "So, shall we see why Shane had these?"

"Already done," Sherlock said. "He took care of all four of them. They're all dead."

"One was pressing charges on me," John said. "I was prepared to put him behind bars for life no matter what it took. I was later told the charges were dropped. I found that odd but had no time to look into it what with all that's been going on. Now I know."

"Now you know," Sherlock echoed. "My brothers will stop at nothing to keep me safe. I hope Mycroft gets here soon. He has some explaining to do."

"Mhm," John mumbled. He on the other hand, hoped Mycroft would never return.

Sherlock lay back, holding John lying partly on top of him. John soon dozed off. Sherlock sorted through his Mind Palace randomly, waiting for Mycroft. They both looked asleep but only John actually was when Mycroft entered about half an hour later. Sherlock opened his eyes, immediately locking gaze with Mycroft.

"It's time."

Sherlock nodded curtly before slowly shifting upward, letting John wake up.

"I have one question before we start," Mycroft suddenly went on.

"Just one," Sherlock ground out. He didn't want to wait any more.

Mycroft grabbed the papers in one hand & shook them under Sherlock's nose. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Sherlock pushed his brother's fist away. "Why should I?"

Mycroft glared. "If anyone so much as looks at you in a way that is uncomfortable, you come straight to me. Understand? I'll destroy them!"

"Adrian."

"Get to the Jaguar!" Mycroft cut him off. "John, I need your help carrying a few files."

Alone with Mycroft? John tried to hide the horrific look that must be showing in his eyes. He stared at the floor. "Cant Sherl—"

"I asked for you, didn't I?" Mycroft snapped. "I can ask no thing of Sherlock any more until I tell him the truth. He is free of helping for now. Sherlock, why are you still here? Jag! Now!" He pointed in the general direction, glaring, then smiled at John. It was the usual soft smile that John had been used to but images of the killings at the church had tainted it. "It's just a few things from the storage room that needs to go to the Diogenes Club. Come on. It'll only take a few minutes." He headed for the door once Sherlock left, pausing to let John catch up.

John shifted from doctor to soldier. He can handle being alone with this man. He can! He stood up, his eyes never leaving Mycroft's body. One wrong move. That's all it would take. Mycroft may be a predator but so was John.

Mycroft led John down one hall, turned a corner & headed down another. It opened into a spectacular parlour with a chandelier hanging dead center. Through the archway on the opposite side was another hall, though not as long. There was a single door at the other end with a black square on it. Mycroft used a key to open it, bent down & shoved something into the doorframe. "Make sure that stick stays there," he explained. "The door can only be opened from the outside." He turned the light on as he entered, John close behind still stiff & wary.

The door clicked softly on the stick but couldn't close properly. Glancing behind, John noticed that the square was actually a window that was heavily tainted. One could see out, but not in. The room itself was rather large, having several rows of shelving units & filing cabinets. Mycroft headed to the far end & disappeared around one unit of drawers. He called for John. He then proceeded to pull out one file, then another, lying them across John's outstretched arms. John thought that the files Mycroft picked were somewhat random. An envelope from the middle drawer of one unit. Some loose papers off a shelf.

"Sir," Charles suddenly showed up next to them. "Your Jaguar keys."

"Oh, thank you Charles," Mycroft pushed some files he was carrying under one arm & took the proffered keys. John noticed that the two men shared a silent look. Then Charles left. There was another click of the door. Mycroft picked up a few more files as they made their way back. "That should do it. What Sherlock needs to see is at the club anyway so I figured I sho—oh no! Aww come on. Really? Not now!"

John was about to ask what Mycroft was flustered about when the man kicked the door in frustration. "Charles. You blithering fool! You kicked the stick out." Mycroft turned to look at John. "Great!"

"So just pound on the door," John said, trying not to worry about being stuck with this man by himself in a room from which there was no escape. Don't panic. Not yet.

"Wouldn't do any good," Mycroft shook his head. "Sound proof. Most of the mansion is."

"You're kidding me," John muttered. Start panicking now!

"I kid you not," Mycroft looked out the window. "Hmm, I can see a landline out there on a desk." He took out his mobile, then scoffed. He shared a look with John, snickering harder. "This is REALLY embarrassing. Calling my own number to get out of my own house!" He turned back to the window, pressing the mobile to his ear. John had to laugh a little at that. It was a rather strange fix they were in. Mycroft heard him laugh & snickered again. "It's ringing. Come on, pick up." He continued peering through the little window ahead beyond the hall into the parlour where a landline phone lay ringing.

Ringing & unanswered.

"No good," Mycroft gave up. "No one's there."

"Call someone's personal mobile."

Mycroft nodded. "Already trying but I'm getting static. There's a lot of cement in here. I was lucky to get through the first time."

"How long do you think we'll be stuck in here?"

"If I can't find a connection again," Mycroft said. "Could be hours. You might as well put those files on the flo—that's nice!" He complained as one of the two light bulbs suddenly burnt out.

They were in almost total darkness. John let the files slide off his hands He felt around his hip until he touched his gun. John could see Mycroft as a 3-D silhouette, the mobile lighting up his scowl.

Mycroft scratched his head. "Well this is just peachy!"

John kept his hand by his hip. "Sherlock's waiting for us. I'm sure he'll send someone to find us soon enough. We just have to wait."

"Let's hope we don't wait long," Mycroft sank to the floor, leaning back against the door. He bent one leg up to rest his right wrist on. "This room is not only soundproof, it's airtight."

John slowly began to pace around the room. It was brighter at the far end due to the good light bulb. Mycroft stayed in the shadows by the door. Well he can have that spot! Even though he didn't always look at him, John focused all his senses on that hunter. Mycroft would not stand a chance if he tried anything.

After several minutes of silent pacing, Mycroft's voice brought John back. "Still nothing."

"I'm sorry?"

Mycroft held up one hand, mobile in his grip, giving John an 'obviously my mobile what's the matter with you?' kind of look. "No more connection." He stared at John, not blinking. He lay his hand in his lap again, letting the mobile slide down between his legs with a soft clatter as it hit the floor. He continued to stare at John.

The soldier started his pacing again. Let him stare. John could feel cold calculating eyes on him where ever he went. It was beginning to get hot in here. The room had been stuffy upon entering. The heat didn't help much.

"Shouldn't Charles come right back here looking for us?" John suddenly asked.

"Charles isn't here," answered Mycroft, stretching with a little yawn. The heat was starting to have an effect. "He's off. He's taking his kids to Paris for the weekend. Since he was the only one here when he gave me the Jag's keys, no one will think to question him right now."

John scowled. It seemed that everything worked against their favor of getting out of here. He rubbed his head, feeling sleepy. But there was no way he was going down in front of Mycroft. John had to stay awake. Had to keep an eye on that man. John looked down the rows of shelving. He thought he could smell burning dust. The temperature continued to rise.

"You're the best thing that ever happened to Sherlock," Mycroft broke the uncomfortable silence. He seemed to be good at doing that.

"Thanks," John muttered. "Someone needs to take care of him."

Like a hawk, Mycroft's eyes singled him out. "Don't forget that. Unlike what I did."

"At least you admit it," John mentally told himself to shut up. What was he doing, provoking that man at a time like this?

"At least I do," Mycroft agreed, standing up. John felt the reassurance of his gun under his hand. Mycroft pressed a hand to his forehead, then rubbed both his temples at the same time. He let out a breath. "Whew! I don't feel to well any more." He walked slowly around, swaying his arms in an attempt to cool off.

John allowed the doctor to take over, just a little. "Careful Mycroft. You could have a heat stroke."

"I'll be fine," Mycroft waved John away. "If someone would just think to come looking here by now."

It had been nearly an hour yet no one had seen or heard from either Mycroft or John. Sherlock had long since left the Jag, setting staff to help in the search for them. They had just finished the top floor & were now working on the main level, eventually spreading out into the grounds. Anthea had insisted on heading down the same way Mycroft & John had gone. Sherlock left her to it as he went outside to look in the barn.

Once she was alone, Anthea sat in the parlour out of sight of the door & waited.

By now, Mycroft was nearly stripped naked against the heat. John eventually gave in to tossing his jacket & shirt aside but not the trousers. He didn't want to be that bare in front of Mycroft. His gun was attached to his belt. Also, after witnessing the flirtations between Shane & Mycroft in the stream, John felt rather uncomfortable getting naked completely with the man. By now Mycroft had stripped down to the mere boxers. John stood quietly, hand on gun, watching. Both were slicked with sweat as the heat was becoming unbearable. The scent of burnt dust was worse. John noticed that Mycroft did not have his daggers this time, yet he could see the imprint of the bands. John realised that Mycroft rarely had them off, to make imprints like the indentation of a wedding ring on one's finger, so why did he not have them now? Mycroft stood up against one corner, panting softly. John tried horribly to shove images of both the stream incident & Sherlock in bed with him out of his mind. Mycroft had all the appearance of a ferocious lover right about now. John stumbled backwards against some shelves. The heat was making his mind befuddled. He looked again at the marks where the dagger-bands used to be.

Mycroft smiled at him. "How are you John?"

"Hanging in there," John mumbled. He was suddenly awake. He was in Mycroft's arms. How did that happen? Why did he lose his vigil on that creature?

"You nearly landed on the floor," Mycroft stood behind John, arms wrapped around the soldier's waist to hold him up.

"I'll be fine."

"How long are we going to keep this pretence up, John?"

John gasped in the precious little air they had left. What was Mycroft thinking seducing him at a time like this? Or any time? He knew he would prefer Sherlock in the end over any of the Holmes. "Pretence?"

"John, are you seriously all right?"

"I'm fine!" John insisted. Why wouldn't Mycroft let go? He could stand.

"Then trust me," Mycroft picked John up & lowered him to the floor. "Lie flat. The floor is still cooler." He lay on his back beside John. "We can hang on a bit longer this way."

Ok, John was now lying side by side with Mycroft. He stared at the ceiling. "What pretence are you talking about?"

"I know you saw me," Mycroft placed one hand over John's.

John pulled roughly away, sitting up. "I love Sherlock! Mycroft, I'm in love with your baby brother. Not you!"

"I know that."

"Then why the fuck are you trying to seduce me?"

Mycroft sat up as well. "I was referring to what you saw in the church. You saw a very dark bad side of me in there, didn't you?"

"Wha … I … it's nothing. Never mind." John mumbled, staring ahead. Mycroft had seen him then. He was finished for sure.

Mycroft put his hands on John's shoulders, pulling him back. "Lie down." John resisted. "Lie down!" John tried to lean forward to pull away. The heat was driving him crazy. The scent of burnt dust didn't help. He suddenly lay back almost in a faint. Mycroft lay back as well. "If I didn't kill them, they'd have done the same if not worse, to you. Sherlock. Shane. Even Sheba. I've been dealing with these kinds of people since I was ten. You'd learn fast to be ruthless when having to run & hide your family at the same time for that long."

John panted from the heat. He tried to keep his mind clear. "I never thought—I didn't—you can't be capa …" Why the hell was Mycroft so close to him?

"Capable of such savagery?" Mycroft finished for him. He changed his position to lie on one side so he could look down on John. He lay like a panther, ankles slightly crossed, one hand over the other. John had to remind himself that neither of them were quite undressed. He nodded mutely. "Sherlock still doesn't know things I can do. I learned at a young age, sadly. You'll learn more when I speak with Sherlock later. You'll be there."

"If we don't die in here first."

"We won't," Mycroft was a bit too sure of himself & John had the uneasy feeling he was set up. "I just don't want you to be afraid of me anymore. I wouldn't hurt you. Unless Sherlock complains about you. That's different. Don't think I won't hesitate to take you out either then."

"I know," John managed to say.

Mycroft put one hand on John's chest. "I've seen the way you've been looking at me since it happened. You're skittish. Terrified. There's no need for that. You know me beyond my blades."

"Do I?" John gritted his teeth, holding back a sob.

"Yes," Mycroft pressed. "When you look at me, see someone who would stop at nothing to keep the family safe. If you think you're scared, think of what someone like those two I cut down would do to Sheba. I won't let that happen. Enola was under attack since she was a month old. Don't think for a second that one of them would stop at a little girl like my niece. You know me first as a lover who'd take anyone to bed. Hell, I'd sleep with Shane at the drop of a hat if he'd let me but he's neither gay, bi or into incest. I just see it as a couple of guys having fun but anyway. Can't touch you though, of course. Sherlock's property." He gave John's chest a pat.

"Don't," John ordered. "Don't tease me right now. Or ever."

"Alright, I'll leave you be," Mycroft sat up & crossed his legs underneath. "Oh John! You're not still mad about the Confessional incident, are you?"

"Drop dead!"

Mycroft laughed at him. "I've done crazy things like that before. It's nothing new."

"I REALLY don't want to know about your sex life!"

"Too bad," Mycroft shrugged. "I could have let you in on some ideas to keep Sherlock happy but whatever you say."

"I'd rather a page out of Irene's book."

"Ooh Irene Adler!" Mycroft shivered with heat of passion. He put his head back with a gasp to stare at the ceiling. John drew up both legs. He may have no love for Mycroft, but the man knew how to arouse the basic sexual instinct with a mere look. It was no wonder most everyone wanted him in bed. "I've been with her twice when we first met her."

"Mycroft!" John yelped. He ended up getting laughed at again. "Shut up! Good Lord, I hate you so much some times!"

Mycroft took a long time before he finally stopped laughing. "So, are we ok now? Can you please stop being afraid of me?"

"Afraid of you?" John echoed. "Perhaps. Annoyed? I'll never stop being annoyed with you."

"That's good!" Mycroft agreed. He stood up & staggered to the door. "By this window is the only place a mobile would work." He called the outside world once more.

Anthea suddenly opened the door, lowering her mobile as she did so. "Well now Master." Her eyes roamed over his slicked down body. "You need any more help, just let me know." She then winked at John.

"I might take you up on that offer tonight, Carlotta," Mycroft said with a sly smile. "In the meantime, can you kill those old heaters? I can just imagine the quid they're eating up right now."

John raised his eyes forward & started marching away. Anthea & Mycroft were two peas in a pod. Heaters? Seriously? He had been set up! No wonder it smelled of burning dust. "Sherlock?" He called out, looking around.

"John," Sherlock came into view. "What hap—why are you half dressed? You're hot."

"Thanks!" John glared. "I got stuck in a room with Mycroft. The door only opened from the outside. It's soundproof & airtight." He swayed on the spot, then shivered. He had gone from hot to cold right away. Actually, it wasn't cold. It was room temperature, but after the furnace he had just left, it was shocking. Sherlock caught him with one arm & led him into the most extravagant washroom John had ever seen. It had a double-sized tub with colored glass doors. The various colors made out a hummingbird sipping from a red tubular flower.

Sherlock pushed him forward. "Going from hot to cold like that isn't good. You should have a warm shower. Where's Mycroft?"

"Probably having sex with Anthea by now."

"Right. I'll just ask somebody else!" Sherlock left. He found Mycroft still in the grand parlour. Sure enough, he was rutting like a stallion with Anthea pressed stomach-first flat on the floor. Mycroft had his hands crossed underneath her, his left hand grabbing her right breast while his right held her left, holding them tight so her cleavage was pushed up. His face was implanted between her shoulders as he gasped sharply with each thrust. Sherlock smiled to himself. He loved ruining these moments for Mycroft. "Oh Adrian, can we go now?"

Freezing firm mid-thrust, Mycroft looked up from Anthea's shoulder blades, annoyed (massive understatement). "John & I got stuck in there." He nodded to the small door of the storage room down the hall. "We'll leave in a moment." He managed to add just as Anthea snaked an arm behind her to put one hand on his neck, pulling him down to her again.

"The moment John finishes his shower," Sherlock turned away. Half way down that longer hall, the combined satisfied cries of his brother & Anthea met his ears. Sherlock cross-rolled his eyes shut, shaking his head. "Such a man-whore as there never was before." He opened the door to the washroom where John was. "Finished yet?"

"Yeah," John was already out, wearing a white bathrobe as he dabbed his hair with a towel. "Is Mycroft finished too?"

"After the squealing like pigs I heard? Yes I believe so." Sherlock muttered, sharing a glare with John. "I'll see you at the Jaguar in ten minutes then."

"Uh yes," John looked himself over. "I have to locate the rest of my clothes."

"Sandy is getting them. Just wait here."

"Alright," John nodded. "Sherlock, stay here with me."

"Was there something else?"

John wondered if he should say it. He thought of the lies Sherlock hated about the game of love. What if Sherlock had walked in on him with Mycroft? In that moment, John understood. There was only one chance allotted as a lover; ruin it & Sherlock would walk out of one's life & not look back. "I'm having a problem with your brother."

"Which one?"

"Mycroft," John hesitated before going on. "He's quite sexual."

"No problem or new news there."

"Around me," John went on. "He's flirting with me. Even put a hand on my chest while we where stuck in that room half-naked from the heat. I think he has a crush on me."

"Mycroft crushes on everyone," Sherlock rubbed an eyebrow. An image of Anthea being squashed into the carpet with Mycroft over her back flashed in his mind. He added, "In more ways then one."

"I'm serious, Sherlock!"

"Has he tried to kiss & grab you at the same time like what I did?"

"No, not yet."

"Good," Sherlock said. "That's how he lays claim on someone. How he lets on that he's looking for more. It where I got the idea from to push you along with us already."

"Wonderful," John scowled.

"I'll take care of it," Sherlock said.

"Thanks," John let out a sigh of relief.

Sandy appeared in the doorway with John's shirt & jacket. "They've been refreshed for you."

Sherlock took them from her & handed them to John as she left. "I wouldn't worry too much about Mycroft. It's simply the way he is." He watched John get dressed, then led him down to the Jaguar.

They got into the back seat & waited for Mycroft who turned up five minutes later looking well-sated (Sherlock rolled his eyes again.) & fresh out of his own shower (probably with Anthea).

Mycroft got into the driver seat as John asked, "What about those files?"

Mycroft took a moment to think. "It's getting a bit late. I'll do that some other time." He all but glared at John through the rear-view mirror. John sat back, understanding. There were no files. Mycroft simply wanted to be alone with him to talk, hence why the pickings where so random.

The moment Mycroft had the Jag on the road, Sherlock went to work on John. He held up their clasped hands, petting over John's fingers with his other hand. He then quickly kissed John as he lay his head on John's shoulder. The war doctor was looking more & more confused by each move Sherlock made. That detective was in no way this affectionate! He felt Sherlock's hand slide up between his thighs & sucked in a gasp.

"You two having fun back there?" Mycroft asked.

Sherlock sat straight. "I'm perfectly fine." He then did the yawn-stretch move, eventually wrapping John in one arm & pulling him as close as their seatbelts allowed.

"Sherlock I know he's yours," Mycroft muttered. "There's no need to fight!"

"Who's fighting?" Sherlock purred sweetly while glaring. John shook his head. Typical.

"I'm not THAT interested in him," Mycroft insisted. "He's all yours."

"See that you remember that."

John sighed. Sherlock & Mycroft would never give it up. Never grow up! He smiled to himself, content to be cuddled by the detective for once. What a crazy family he had joined.


	27. Chapter 27

**(27) The Lying Truth**

They reached the Diogenes Club in the late afternoon. Sherlock led the way inside. Following behind him, John found himself next to Mycroft. He grabbed Mycroft's forearm gently so as not to release the jagged horror if it was there. He felt what he was looking for & let go.

"You think I'd go out without them?" Mycroft asked flatly.

"No," John whispered, keeping his eyes on Sherlock's back as they entered the Club.

Mycroft fell behind & sighed. John would never be his friend again. At least not in the same way as before. Now they were merely civil to each other. "This way," he said as he caught up. He entered his usual office, closing the door, then locking it, once Sherlock & John were inside. Then he turned to the bookshelf on the far wall & began passing his hands over the binders. He pushed two aside & pressed a wooden panel. The bookcase grated sideways revealing a stairwell. The lights turned on all the way down into a world of white.

The three of them went down silently, hearing the book case grate back into place. At the bottom of three flights of stairs was a solid steel door with a keypad on one side. A scanner was mounted on top. Mycroft entered a password, then moved his head like a dolphin using each eye at a time. The scanner took a retinal imprint of both before that door opened. Mycroft turned to Sherlock. "Good luck busting in here little one!"

Sherlock merely glowered at him.

"I didn't know this was here," John remarked as they stepped inside.

"Very few do," said Mycroft. "It was Shane's idea."

"Who else?" asked John.

Sherlock answered. "Anyone who is a member of this Club. Right?"

Mycroft nodded. "They're all retired agents who have been with me since the beginning. Well, we say retired. Until this mess is cleared up, if ever, retirement is a fantasy. Welcome to the White Room. I'm the only one able to come down this far. You two are the first visitors in many years."

The room was indeed bright with white & light. There was a desk with a chair at one wall on the left. Next to that was a faucet with a small sink & a small two-burner stove. The other wall directly across, on their right, had a large computer. The wall opposite the door had a large theatre-like screen dropped down on it. Mycroft sat down in the wheeled chair in front of the computer & turned it on. Once he had set a few things up, he made Sherlock take his place.

"These are files on various … traitors … in the Secret Service," Mycroft began. "Not all of them. I only keep ones directly related with our case. The ones with red X's are the ones either Shane or I have… eliminated, for lack of a better term."

Sherlock looked through the marked lists first. There were five of them, three of which he recognised. "You worked with some of these people. I remember that one man & her there." He pointed at the names in turn.

"Keep your friends close but your enemies closer."

"They just disappeared after a while," Sherlock went on. "You didn't work with them any more." After a moment, he added, "Because they were dead." Sherlock then checked the list of the living. There were a dozen or so names on it. Again, some of them he recognised. "You work with them to."

"Yes. For now," Mycroft pointed at one name. Jason Wright.

"Your boss is on this list?" Sherlock sat back, looking up at Mycroft.

"Yes," Mycroft said. "It's his fault we're targets. He's the main traitor. Shane & I decided to forget about the little men & go after him. That's why I'm working my way to the higher ranks of the Service but I'm running out of time. He's old. Due for retirement soon."

"What's his crime?"

"You'll see in a minute," Mycroft reached over & brought up another set of files. "Look through those."

The names Violet Sherrinford & Siger Holmes were everywhere. Sherlock took about fifteen minutes to look through them. "This is of the work they did. Four of their vacations are registered here to."

"Good, you noticed that. Very dangerous information you just picked up," Mycroft leaned over & brought up other files. "They had a vacation every year but I only kept track of the four relevant ones."

Several minutes went by before Sherlock spoke up again. "These are also about our parents. They were spies it seems."

"Yes," Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

"They worked for England, yet were murdered," Sherlock spoke to himself more than the other two. Mycroft again raised an eyebrow. Sherlock glanced to the computer, then back to his brother. He stood up. "Against England?"

"So we're told."

"Our parents … were traitors?"

"So we're told," Mycroft said again.

"You don't believe it," Sherlock said. "You think they were set up."

"I KNOW they were set up," Mycroft corrected. "See these here?" He pulled up another group, stepping back to let Sherlock study them.

They were about four crimes against the country itself. Jason Wright was in every one of them, connected to a few various agents who were as corrupt as he & did his bidding. Sherlock added a quick search of his own, checking his brother's boss himself. Besides swindling England out of millions of dollars through illegal weapons trade & drug trafficking, among other things, he also seemed to investigate every case with keen interest, as if searching for the one responsible. Wright was covering his own arse. He had also assassinated two dignitaries, one native from England & one foreigner of the States, replacing them with his own men. (These men had later been removed, by either Mycroft or Shane, replaced with proper agents once more.) Sherlock looked up from the screen. "It seems you have a double agent in power. But what does this have to do with us?"

"Look at those last two sets of files about our parents again. See if you can catch the mistake everyone made in trying to cover their arses." 

Sherlock his time, comparing the files. Mycroft poured water from the faucet & pulled a kettle out from under the desk. He soon had tea going for the three of them.

"The dates of the crimes nearly coincide with the dates of those vacations," Sherlock said, accepting the offered teacup. "Vacations of which were in an almost opposite area of where the crimes took place. Our parents can not be in two places at once so either the crimes were committed by someone else or the vacations didn't happen."

Mycroft took a sip of his tea before saying. "You're almost there. Add nine months to any of those vacations. You'll pick up two of them at least. The dates of the vacations also coincide with …?"

"Nine months?" John repeated.

"That's right."

"Oh my God no!" John looked up in horror. "Mycroft you can't be serious!"

"Ah, the war doctor already got it," Mycroft glanced between the pair of lovebirds. "Your turn Sherlock."

"Mycroft…no…" Sherlock shook his head. He could not believe it. But whatever was left, however improbable, must be the truth. He shifted his eyes from Mycroft to files to John, then back to Mycroft who had put his tea aside.

Mycroft knelt down in front of Sherlock, taking both hands into his own. "Do you understand now? Why there are four vacations? Why I KNOW our parents are innocent? Why we're all marked for death? Say it aloud."

"Four vacations."

"Four vacations," Mycroft echoed.

"Four children," Sherlock whispered.

"Exactly."

"That's why everyone's trying to kill us, even if Enola was a month old then," Sherlock stood up to pace. "She was still another birth to worry about. We are literal living proof of the innocence of our parents."

"Now you know," Mycroft stood up as well. "That's why they want to get rid of Sheba-Marie to. She's the continuation of your line. As for our war hero, simply by association he's doomed with us."

Sherlock turned away, rubbing his face with his fingertips. He gasped softly a few times, trying to even his breath but John could see him shaking. It wasn't often Sherlock Holmes showed fear. John could understand why. He stepped forward to put a hand on Sherlock's back.

"No … no don't. Just don't touch me right now, John." Sherlock continued to heave as John stepped back looking hurt. Sherlock leaned over hands on knees. "How could you keep this from me, Adrian?"

"How could I bring the topic up?" Mycroft countered.

"Oh don't play games with me now my dear brother! I'm not in the mood!" Sherlock shouted at him, standing straight. He sat down in front of the computer, resting his face on one hand. "Shut up! Both of you. Let me think."

Mycroft pushed John to the far end by the desk. "You understand me now?" John nodded, not trusting his voice. "Now you know why I interrogated you when you first entered our lives. My little brother brings home some random flatmate. Could have been one of those assassins for all anyone knew. I investigated you all that day before I even talked with you."

"I don't blame you," John finally spoke.

Mycroft crossed his arms a bit so that he could touch the place where one dagger lay with his opposite hand. "Daddy taught me how to use them. These are his. Mummy once said that someone may say something mean about them. Later, I found out people were calling them traitors. Anyway, a day or two after that, Daddy started teaching Shane & I things boys our age should have never known. I can kill you John, just by punching your face just right. Don't worry I won't." He laughed softly at John's expression. "Unless he complains about you that is. But I can. Learned to do stuff like that when I was ten. After it happened, I started to send Sherlock to similar classes in an effort to train him."

"They knew they might get killed," John said, realising that it wasn't Sherlock who was the trapped child. It was Mycroft & Shane. They had their childhood stolen away from them with the corruption of the British Secret Service. They lived as best they knew how. In fear more for each other than for themselves; ready & well-abled to defend themselves or their younger charges unto death.

Sherlock came over, catching Mycroft's eye. "How can you keep the best case of my life away from me?"

Mycroft & John stared at him in shock. Sherlock … was smiling. He had a taste of the biggest case in his life & was now chomping at the bit for more. "Oh no!" They whined in one voice.

"I could have helped you with this," Sherlock went on.

"Sherlock!" Mycroft snapped. "I don't want you any where near this. You have Lestrade. Stay there."

"Lestrade's cases will be immensely boring after something like this," Sherlock nodded at the computer across the room.

"I don't care!" Mycroft glowered. "You're not helping & that's the end of this conversation." Sherlock began to pout. "Grow up! I've been dealing with this for years trying to keep you safe. I will not lay you beside Enola! Someone else can do that long after I'm dead. You WILL stay away." 

"Do you really think you can clear our name?"

"Yes," Mycroft sighed, sitting down. "Do you have any idea how happy I was when you started bothering the DI's for cases to work on? I knew it would cause some trouble but at least it would keep you on the edge of this."

Sherlock went about pouring out another cup of tea. "You should have at least told me about this when I was older."

"I trained you in everything from fencing to boxing," Mycroft pointed out. He glanced at the teacup Sherlock offered, hesitating before finally accepting it. "I've kept agents on your tail all these years. I even upped the security level when Watson entered your life. I tried to keep you safe. So did Shane. We still do."

"You made one hell of a screw up with Moriarty."

"I will never take a case like that again!" Mycroft exclaimed. "We almost lost you. I won't risk that again."

Sherlock went around, putting the kettle & few dishes away, par Mycroft's new cup, cleaning up the place a little. "How is it you still work in the Service if you've killed a few of them?"

"There's an assassin we've all been after for years who takes the blame for it," Mycroft all but glared at the very neatly swan-shaped folded new napkin Sherlock held out before taking it.

"Ah, Shane."

"Yes," Mycroft nodded. "Whenever we get to close, I send him a signal to move. The few times he would talk to me, he signed out as SHE just in case. That way people would think it was some girl. It's one reason why I have so many lovers through out the years & none of them for long. People think me the whore I am & would assume SHE to be just another of my bed notches."

"SHE," Sherlock began to straighten out the few pieces of furniture. "Shane Holmes. Enola."

"Yeah," Mycroft eyed his younger brother. "You know, Sherlock. It's much faster & easier to just say you're sorry & be done with it."

John tried to hide a smirk as Sherlock stopped mid-moving of a chair into a better place. "Very well. You're sorry & be done with it."

Mycroft looked at John. "Why do I even bother? Tell me John. WHY do I bother?" John turned away, snickering. Mycroft turned back to Sherlock. "Remember, what you learned down here, stays here. Now you can really get yourself killed, knowing this. Same for you John."

John nodded as Sherlock went back to the computer to turn it off. He nearly did when he noticed one more file, labelled 'the final moments', he hadn't looked at yet. He sat down to open it.

Mycroft dropped his teacup to the floor where it shattered. "Sherlock no!" He launched himself over the desk to run at Sherlock but it was too late. The video was already playing. Mycroft fell to his knees & leaned forward, face to the floor like a Muslim in prayer.

The video was only seven seconds long but it felt an eternity. Sherlock had heard his brother but had already seen most of it. The computer's sound was on so everyone heard it.

Siger & Violet Holmes were strapped to a tree. A group of six armed men stood in front of them. One held a boy perhaps just starting his teen years.

"You know it isn't us!" Siger said.

"Run Shane!" Violet yelled. "Get out of here now!"

The boy struggled & kicked as one of the men called out. "Fire at will."

The Senior Holmes were soon slumped over the ropes binding them to the tree, blood rushing out from more than one bullet wound to the head & chest. Each. The boy broke away during the commotion & ran out of sight on screen. Someone fired at him but obviously missed since Sherlock had met that boy as a man quite recently.

The video went fuzzy.

Sherlock had jumped from his chair & stumbled backwards. He now stood staring at the screen. "Of course. The final moments!" He derided himself.

"God in heaven! Why did you play that?" Mycroft suddenly sobbed from the floor. "I never wanted to see it again. Why?"

"I didn't do it on purpose!" Sherlock defended. "Why do you keep it then?"

"I intend to delete it when I can," Mycroft gasped, trying to stand but he was shaking too much that he stayed on his knees. "Not until everyone one of them is dead."

"One of the cameras from the mansion caught that."

"No shit, Sherlock!" Mycroft hissed through gritted teeth, rubbing one side of his nose with his fingertips. He swayed on the spot & lay on his side, breathing deeply. "I was amazed yet horrified when I found that almost a year later in old films the maids of that time had put away."

Sherlock knelt down beside his brother & put a hand on Mycroft's heaving side. "I … I truly am … sorry for that." John believed him. He had never seen Sherlock so upset in his life. That bit of filmed had riled him. As well it should. Sherlock had just witnessed the murder of his parents. Very different from a car accident. 

"Don't ever play files I don't call up for you again," Mycroft gasped, moving a bit so he could hold on to Sherlock's neck. He pressed his forehead to Sherlock's shoulder.

Sherlock looked over Mycroft's head to John. "Had I but known about any of this, I would have driven you away that day when Mike Stamford brought you to me. I would have never accepted you or any one else into my life."

"Good luck with that," John forced a smile. "I wouldn't have it any other way. Besides, I'm not just a doctor. I'm a soldier. What better to have for a flatmate than that?" 

Sherlock conceded the point with a nod. "Adrian, why do we never speak of Daddy? It's always Mummy of mercy on this. Or Mummy help me with that. You always spoke of her to me. Not him."

Mycroft sighed & pushed Sherlock away. "It's because of what he taught Shane & I during those last few months."

"Like what?"

"Similar things I made you learn."

John raised one brow & looked away. Similar things indeed. Try not as drastic. He knew Sherlock would work Mycroft into a corner until he got his answers. He knew Mycroft would never forgive himself once he finally gave in to Sherlock's prodding. "Sherlock, perhaps he can tell you after these traitors are dead? Something to do with the Service for now?" He had never seen a more relieved look in his life as Mycroft turned around a bit to see him.

"Alright, I'll wait," Sherlock muttered, standing up.

Mycroft stood up as well at last. "You remember the first time we thought Miss Adler dead? You had asked what's wrong with us since we don't seem to care as much."

"I remember."

"It's because Daddy trained Shane & I to not care," Mycroft said. (It's because Senior Holmes had turned the two eldest boys into remorseless killers to survive but how could he say that now?) "As I tried so hard to train you. Just in case what has been happening to us these past few days would happen. Looks like I failed miserably in that aspect." He shared a look with Sherlock, then both laughed.

"Only a little, Adrian."

Mycroft switched off the computer. "I think you have your answers now." He headed for the door.


	28. Chapter 28

**(28) Sherlocked**

It was a very different ride in the Jag when they left the Club. John sat in the back by himself as Sherlock & Mycroft took the front seats. No one said anything until the Jag slowed to a stop in front of 221B Baker Street.

The silence hung a moment longer before Mycroft finally spoke up. "John, I need to leave you home while I take Sherlock somewhere."

"I should stay wi—"

"Not right now, Sherlock."

John leaned forward. "I think you brothers need some time alone, Sherlock. Stay with him a while." He got out without another word. The Jaguar crawled forward once more into the traffic.

"We don't have much else to say to each other at the moment," Sherlock began. "I understand you well enough."

"Good," Mycroft nodded, turning onto the highway. "Remember our little fight a while ago when I said I knew something you didn't?"

"Yes. Mycroft. I know it now."

"No. You don't."

Sherlock just rolled his eyes sideways to glare. There was more? Now what? Mycroft said nothing as he sped the car faster. They entered Cardiff. Mycroft headed for the same house he had met Shane the second time around just before Enola's funeral. He parked across the street from it.

Mycroft opened his long slim black wallet. He pulled out an old picture (from a ripped open pocket). It was of two boys, Holmes brothers. The eldest on the left (Shane) & the younger on the right (Mycroft himself) who was probably no older than ten in that picture. "That's one of the few pictures I have of him. None of Enola though." He passed the old picture to Sherlock.

"Shane left us a small picture album," Sherlock pulled it out from under his coat & handed it over. "John & I already looked at it. Shane said to burn it once you're done." He glanced around. "Well? What are you up to now?"

"When Sheba-Marie was still in Canada with your friend, François," Mycroft began, putting the album in the glove department. "There was a time when everyone almost lost her. You sent John over."

"I remember that."

"Do you remember any one mentioning 'Clarisse' as being his daughter?"

"John called Enola that when we first met her."

"Shane was trailing you," Mycroft explained. "He used Enola to watch Sheba. She was planted in that town a few months before & told to get close to François. He needed to prove that the girl he had with him wasn't yours & eventually, Enola offered to play Mummy for a bit. Worked just fine since she being one of us, the girls looked similar enough to be believable. François only knew her as Clarisse." 

"François was Irene's last client a few years ago before I found her again," Sherlock put in. "They were friends as well. Irene was the one who suggested using his help when Moriarty re-appeared."

"I know," Mycroft said. "About that woman; I would like to know just how you managed to infiltrate my command & free her."

"I don't know. Yet. Neither did Irene," Sherlock paused before adding. "She's dead now anyway. I hope you're satisfied now?"

"Oh! Orgasmically!"

"MYCROFT!" Mycroft burst out laughing. Sherlock glared. "Why do you say such things?"

"No. The real question is: Why do I say such things without a camera handy to take a picture of your face?"

"Be grateful I don't have one of her whips handy! I'd hit you over the head with it. Get some sense into you."

"I see," Mycroft mused. Then he smiled slyly while pulling his hand along the inside of Sherlock's legs. "Uh, which head might that be?"

"Right. I'm out!" Sherlock opened the door.

"You walked into that one, Sherlock."

"What is wrong with you?" Sherlock demanded.

Mycroft merely snickered at him. "Go into that house over there," He waved a hand. "You have Shane to thank for this. Not me. But you should know."

"Know what?" Sherlock was not impressed.

"Get going & find out," Mycroft ordered. "I have business at Dartmoor." 

"Good," Sherlock nodded. "Considering this is the Jag, your business is sexual. That way I & any one else not interested in you won't have to worry about your advances."

"Oh shut up! I'm just playing. Now go on."

"Alright, I'll just be a moment." Sherlock made to close the door.

"No, you won't," Mycroft smiled. "You'll be a few hours." Sherlock cast his brother another glare as he slammed the door shut. He then stumbled backwards out of the way as the Jag … took off. Sherlock blinked a few times in surprise. Mycroft had just abandoned him! He watched as the Jag disappeared around the corner before heading for the house.

"Hello?" Sherlock had knocked on the door, only to find it loose & swinging open for him. "Sherlock Holmes. I'm just coming in." He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He walked down the hall, glancing into the kitchen as he passed. Eventually, he entered the living room. Someone was sitting on the couch ahead, back towards him. "Hello?"

The person stood up & turned. "Hi, Sherlock."

Sherlock's jaw dropped for one moment, then his look turned to glaring like a pissed off otter chased out of his den. "Woman!"

Irene shrugged coyly. "Huh, surprise?" Sherlock thumped his foot on the floor, turned on his heel as if to leave. "Sherlock? Wait!" Irene put her hands on his shoulders to hold him back. "I didn't think you'd be this mad."

"What do you expect, Woman?" Sherlock rounded on her. "You always ALWAYS die on me. Always a lie."

"Would you rather I be dead for real?" Irene shot back.

"Well, I uh I no of course not."

"Alright then!" Irene put her hands on her hips. "You know what kind of life we both lead. We'll probably both have to do this several more times before it actually happens." Sherlock looked anywhere but in Irene's eyes. "My poor darling. What have I done?"

"Don't do that."

"Sherlock," Irene sighed exasperatedly. "How's Sheba-Marie?"

"Don't do that either!"

"Do what?"

"Pull the child-card on me!" Sherlock snarled. "How do you think she is? She's with me & John. She's fine! Now, why are you alive? Not that I want you dead by any means, my dear wife."

"This was a mistake," Irene said more to herself, stepping away.

Sherlock grabbed her by the arm. "Woman."

Irene looked down at his grip on her, then up into his eyes. "Shane was able to rescue me but with Moriarty coming after all of us, he made me play dead. We recently told Mycroft & now you."

"Ah so you're working your way through the entire Holmes family, are you?"

Irene was suddenly livid. "Excuse me! I'm the faithful one around here. You & John!"

"I thought you were dead. You asked me to! What did you expect?"

"I KNOW!" Irene shouted. In a neutral voice, she muttered, "I know. That's good. I wanted you two together."

"Most of England did."

Irene laughed, then looked down at his long fingers curled around her arm. "Will you please let go?"

"Fine," Sherlock released his grip. "Where will you go now? Ah never mind. With Shane right?"

"Not like that but yes," Irene admitted. "He has a place to hide out. Granted I'm not in as much trouble as any of you Holmes. But I do have others after me besides Moriarty. Shane will finish them off."

"You be careful around him," Sherlock warned. "Both my elder brothers are …are not to be trusted."

"'Monsters' was the word you were going to use."

Sherlock stared at her a moment. That wasn't quite the word he was looking for but maybe it was a good choice. "I—well, perhaps. They can be quite dangerous."

"I think it's best I stay away until Mycroft brings down his boss," Irene said.

Damn it! Just once, Sherlock wished he could be one step ahead of her. He sighed heavily. "Do you know everything?"

"Only enough." 

"Very well then," Sherlock gave up. "Let's talk about the girl. Do you want to take Sheba with you or leave her with me?"

Irene gasped silently. She turned away to think a moment. "I'm staying with Shane." She turned back. "He wouldn't harm her but considering the trouble that follows him, I think, I—we should …"

"I'll take care of her," Sherlock finished.

Irene closed her eyes, wiping away a few tears. "I miss her." Sherlock said nothing. He put his hands into his coat pockets, waiting. "You're the only one I ever gave a child to. I heard what happened to that ship. For a while I didn't know if she was alive or dead! It's why we went to Mycroft. When we first heard that there might be trouble on board. He filled me in on the details."

"Sheba-Marie is one of the few survivors," Sherlock said. "Thanks to John."

Irene smiled a bit. "Moriarty nearly ruined us."

"No, no," Sherlock shook his head. "He did ruin us." With that, he left, letting the door close with a soft bang.

Irene heard his boots click down the steps. She sank to her knees. After a while she managed to mutter to herself, "Dammit James! I had the perfect life with Sherlock. Why did you have to ruin it?" She stood up after a few minutes & picked up her coat draped over an armchair. Irene turned back for the hall as she put it in. "Oh! Gods! Sherlock!" She yelped as she laid eyes on him. Wasn't he gone?

Sherlock was leaning against the wall, hands in pockets watching her. "I finally manage to sneak up on you."

Irene glared at him. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough."

"Oh I could kill you!" She teased. "You scared me half to death."

"Isn't that a game we both like to play?" Sherlock crossed his arms. "Dance with death."

"Yes," Irene hung her head.

"You really thought we had the perfect life back in America?"

Good Lord, he was standing there long enough! Bastard! Irene turned away, cheeks flushed. "It was different but …"

"It wasn't boring for you? No whoring. No cases to work on," Sherlock went on. "Until we were found by Moriarty … no excitement?"

"Oh it was," Irene looked back at him & purred. "Very exciting at times. Besides, Sheba-Marie was quite a surprise."

"No she wasn't," Sherlock said. "She was well-planned. I knew that since you weren't used to actually being with one mate instead of lying around, you'd end up forgetting about using protection. I didn't remind you. Another time I outwitted you."

"You're evil."

"Not as bad as you."

"Would you like me to prove it?" 

Sherlock shrugged. "I don't have any morph…morphine." Irene had just raised a hand, holding a syringe. "Beat me again, Woman!" Sherlock stepped forward, yanking off his scarf & tossing it to the floor. His coat landed on top of it.

"I'll have you begging three times this time!" Irene let her white dress drop to the ground.

"You won't hear me once." Sherlock grabbed her shoulders & turned her around. He fussed with the bra strap.

"Wow honey! How could you miss that one?"

"What?"

"It snaps open at the front, hello?"

"I know that," Sherlock lied. "I'm merely prolonging it." How could he miss? He mentally kicked himself. "John doesn't wear these things. I'm not used to bras anymore."

"Liar!" Irene turned back, bra open. She let it slide down her arms to the floor. "Well?"

"What?"

"What do you mean what?" Irene pouted. "Stop teasing me & start touching me!"

"If you insist."

"I do."

"In that case, you're the first to beg." Sherlock lowered her to the floor.

Irene glared a moment. "I won't be doing that again."

"We'll see." Sherlock stripped himself & lay over her.

Irene wrapped her legs around his waist & flipped them over so that she was on top. "Your turn."

"Never!"

"You will," Irene put one hand between his pecks as the other gripped his throat. Sherlock held onto the hand on his throat with both hands, sliding his own upwards to push against Irene's shoulders as they thrusted against each other. She was tight around him. He needed to breathe but didn't want to, as it would ruin the high. It was either come or die! He was very near to either one when Irene suddenly pulled away.

"Woman! Gods, Irene!"

"That's twice!" Irene leaned forward, cradling his head in her hands. She pressed her fingers into his curls.

"Fine, I'll just do this," Sherlock let out a long breath & relaxed.

Irene glanced down. Sherlock was no longer hard but she knew he hadn't felt any release either. There were times when it would happen before, Sherlock would not come with her but allowed her anything. It was simply the way of a Demisexual. This was not one of those times. "Oh you can't pull the Demi trick on me this time! You're going all the way."

Sherlock interlocked his fingers behind his head & stared at the ceiling. "I'm all yours, Woman."

"Oh you will be!" Irene threatened, moving down. She began playing with him & teasing his inner thighs. It took a while but she soon had a response. She stopped. "So you've taken up Holmes again have you? No more Sherlock Adler?"

Sherlock sat up glaring. Irene knew he wanted her touch. All he had to do was beg. "That was Shane's fault, not mine."

"I know," Irene sat over his lap, crossing her ankles behind his back. She reached down between them & began stroking him.

"I think Shane changed my name around again to confuse everyone," Sherlock went on. Irene was not to be ignored. She pressed her hand down farther, grabbing the plums in her hands at last & squeezing. Painfully hard! Sherlock met her eyes & let out a long low snarl that would have sent Gladstone running for cover. Irene merely raised an eyebrow as she squeezed even harder. "Ok!" Sherlock lay back again. Giving up. Giving in.

"That's better," Irene released her grip & lowered herself onto him once more. "One more time, dear." Sherlock merely scoffed. "You know I always get what I want from you. One more time!"

"Nope."

"Stubborn boy," Irene grumbled. "I'll just have to punish you."

"You do that."

"I will," Irene lifted off once more & shoved herself downward. Sherlock soon found himself inside her in a very different way. She first used her lips to tease him, then began nipping & biting at the swollen arousal, attempting to draw a little blood. Her teeth bit into him painfully sharp.

Sherlock went stiff, staring at the ceiling. "Irene …Woman." He whispered softly to himself. "I'm with her." It didn't work. He sat up straight. He grabbed her head from out of his lap & held her face in his hands. He leaned forward to kiss her. "You have no idea do you? How much James hurt me."

"What?" Irene was confused. "What do you mean?"

"There's a few things we can't do any more," Sherlock said. "I don't let John do them either."

"What are you talking about?"

"Nothing, come here," Sherlock kissed her again, pushing her down.

"Sherlock!"

"Come to me," He whispered softly, lying over her again.

"No, no. Stop!" Irene pushed back on his chest. "What about Jim?"

"I said it's nothing," Sherlock retorted. "Let me claim you now."

"Sherlock!"

"I'm begging you for the third time, am I not?" Sherlock snapped. "Lie down."

Irene searched his eyes. Something was definitely wrong. "Come here, my sweet one." She lay back, pulling him onto her.

"Thank you," Sherlock muttered, leaning down to kiss her neck.

Irene went slack under him. He had never thanked her for this before. For the first time in her life, she felt no release even though Sherlock's long slow thrusts went deep every time. She let him finish. Somehow, she knew he needed it more than her. She gave him the shot of morphine afterward & lay against his chest as he sat next to the wall. She suddenly felt his hand between her legs.

"You didn't climax yet."

"I don't have to," Irene kissed the middle of his chest. "You needed it more than—Sherlock!" She gave in to his persistence, clutching at his shoulders as he worked his way around with his fingertips.

"Feel better now?" He asked once she had a seizure due to his ministrations.

"A bit," Irene laughed softly at him.

"You not feeling anything is … unnatural. Don't miss out again."

"Whatever you say," She lay her head on his chest again. After a length of silence passed she asked, "Did Jim … force you?"

"Not personally."

Irene lay in his arms quietly, thinking. After a few minutes, she raised her head to look Sherlock in the eye. "I know Shane went around & killed four men out of prison. Men you put there. I knew them. They worked for Moriarty." She stopped, waiting for a reaction.

"What about them?" Sherlock shrugged as if he didn't care.

"Sherlock," Irene sat away from him. "You can tell me."

"It kept Sheba-Marie safe."

Irene turned away. Her shoulders began to shake. Sherlock leaned forward & pulled her back to his chest. Irene resisted a bit before lying back. She rearranged herself so that she had one leg over Sherlock's lap & draped one arm across his chest. "You will always be my favourite client."

"I'm your only client these past few years," Sherlock lifted her a bit in the arm she was cuddled in & quickly kissed her. "You do know I have to tell John about this. I don't keep romantic secrets."

"I know," Irene passed a hand up & down Sherlock's arm. "John's fine. Tell him whatever you want. Besides, I intend to get that threesome with you both anyway."

"Dear Lord," Sherlock muttered under breath but Irene heard. She poked the center of his chest, digging in the nail. "John will be pleased."

"So will you. Trust me!"

"Trust you? The horror of the mere notion."

"Shut up!" Irene fought back a giggle. They soon changed their position to lying naked on the floor. Irene fell asleep beside him. When she woke up a few hours later, she felt her coat draped over her … but nothing else.

Sherlock Holmes-Adler was gone.

About an hour later, Irene found herself outside the town at last. She left the cabbie at the roadside, preferring to walk down the long driveway under a canopy of trees. An old house came into view but Irene walked around it to the back yard. The Cobra was landed dead center in the grass.

Shane was sprawled out underneath it. He got up as he saw her coming & leaned back against the helicopter. With a cocky all-knowing smile he said, "Took you long eno—"

CRACK!

Irene had punched him square in the face. Shane went down on his arse, banging the back of his head against the Cobra's rung. "OW! MUMMY HELP ME! What did you do that for you crazy lady?"

"How could you not tell me?"

"Tell what?" Shane moaned, looking cross-eyed down his nose as he touched his face gingerly where she had punched him. He felt something sticky coming from his mouth to soak into his trimmed pointed moustache & wiped away blood. "I don't know what hurts more. My face. My head. Or my bloomin' ass!"

"Everything about you will bloom with a lot more hurt if you don't answer my question!" Irene grabbed Shane's collar & hauled him upwards against the Cobra's supports between rung & body. "About what happened to Sherlock with Jim's men!"

Shane stopped baby-ing himself & turned away. "He mentioned that, then? That's good. He doesn't talk about it. Acts like nothing happened."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Irene demanded.

"It wasn't my place," Shane said. "He didn't want to talk about it so we all had to wait for him to be ready."

"We?" Irene crossed arms & raised one brow like Spock would.

"Mycroft & John as well. Lestrade to."

"I can't believe you didn't tell me!"

"It was up to hi—"

"I ended up hurting him, Sherrinford!" Irene interrupted. "Had I but known what happened to him, I could have handled him more gently."

"Irene, I couldn't ju—"

"Let's go home!" Irene was already more than halfway around the Cobra. By the time Shane had even climbed into the pilot's seat, she was already strapped in.

Shane hesitated before asking, "What did he say?"

"It kept Sheba safe. That's it."

"The four of them were misled, away from her," Shane explained. "They went after Sherlock. In the meantime, François was able to move Sheba to where she was supposed to be."

"Sherlock didn't pick them off one by one," Irene mused. "They were all here together. Shane? Did they—was it—all four …"

"Gang rape. Yes."

Irene turned away, wiping tears from her eyes. "Take me home! Don't you dare speak to me right now."

"Fine," Shane put the Cobra in gear.

"At least John is with him," Irene said in a more even voice. "I should be with him to." She finally managed to look at Shane in a more civil manner. "As soon as Mycroft takes care of that boss of his, I'm going back to Sherlock."

"You're not going any where until I take care of a few 'friends' of yours," Shane glared. "You're stuck with me until then."

"Then hurry it up!" Irene shot back.

"I'll do things in my own damn time!" Shane retorted. "I have my own ass to cover as well don't forget."

"You just keep it covered around me!"

Shane was furious with her now. "Unlike some people, I don't have affairs. You are someone's wife. More importantly, my little brother's so therefore also my sister by law. I'm not into incest either so go bug Mycroft for that! Believe me, I'll keep it covered around you."

Irene turned away, arms crossed, huffing. It was clear the two hated each other like nothing else but Shane was right. She was stuck with him. He was the only one who could protect her for now. But being on the wrong side of Shane was dreadful. Unlike Sherlock who barely showed emotion, unlike Mycroft who was something of a free spirit, Shane was an all or nothing person. If he loved, he was impassioned by it. His hate was just as fiery to the point of abusive. He was unforgivable. Once his hate was earned, there was no going back. This was why Irene did not want Sheba-Marie around. "I'd rather die than have you touch me."

"You're lucky you're married to Sherlock Holmes!" Shane grabbed her wrist & pulled her close so that they were nose to nose. "Don't ever wish that again! You have no idea what I can do to a woman who I'm about to kill. I can make Jack The Ripper look like a child compared to what I can do. Understand?" He smiled sweetly. "Sister?" He raised the Cobra from the ground. Irene fell silent. Sherlock was wrong on why Shane had changed the name back. It wasn't to confuse. It was to attack her. Destroy the link between Adler & Holmes. Somehow, someday soon, Irene promised herself she would tell Sherlock the truth. She didn't think it possible to hate that man more then what she already did.

"The sooner you finish off a few things for me the better," Irene huffed. "We can go our separate ways."

"In the meantime," Shane returned. "Don't make me say how much I regret alerting William to your distress about four years ago with Adri's gang."

"YOU sent Sherlock to me?" Irene gasped.

"Who else?" Shane retorted. "If I had only known back then. If only," he lamented to himself before continuing. "The only thing that's stopping me from reaching back there & snapping your neck is my baby brother. Pray he never loses interest in you. I'm sure there are other women out there that will one day get his attention. He's already into Dr. Watson."

"I told him to do that," Irene defended.

"That could be your downfall," Shane just smiled.

"I gave Sherlock a child."

"She can have a step-mother …when I find one, you'll know."


	29. Chapter 29

(Similar thing happened with my friend's daughter…only in reality it was a $250 waterproof camera she destroyed instead of a gun.)

**(29) Triangle**

It was late in the evening by the time Sherlock returned to 221B by taxi. Sheba was already put to bed. John was in the armchair reading. He had no shirt on, just the trousers. He put the paper aside as Sherlock entered.

They shared a long look before John asked, "Are you alright?"

"Why shouldn't I be?" Sherlock started for the kitchen. Gladstone fell in behind him. "Go away!" Gladstone didn't listen.

"You know Mycroft's secret now," John picked up the mini Doberman & stuffed him under one arm.

"Oh that."

"Yes. That."

"He should have told me a long time ago," Sherlock opened a cupboard above & slightly to the side of the sink, pulling out a red wine bottle. "Other than that, there isn't much I can do about it right now. I'm not an agent of the Secret Service, though I should be."

John rolled his eyes, ignoring Sherlock's self-righteousness. "What about Enola & Shane?"

"Enola's dead & they're both gone."

"Ok," John wasn't surprised at the flippant hand wave or the answer. Sherlock had his moment possibly with Mycroft. It was over now. Move on. He knew Sherlock would deal with things in his own way on his own time.

"By the way," Sherlock poured out two glasses & handed one to John. "We'll get that threesome the Woman promised us yet. Don't know when though." He headed for his couch & sat down, drinking his tea as if that settled the matter.

John however, seemed frozen in place. He finally managed to turn around. "Irene Adler?"

"Alive & well, as usual," Sherlock shrugged. "She was Mycroft's last secret. She's with Shane now."

John wasn't sure what to do. Watching Sherlock, he somehow knew what had happened. Sherlock & Irene. Today. Recently. Should he be jealous? Should he care? Irene was the first to have Sherlock. Besides, thanks to Irene he was now Sherlock's partner to begin with. Not to mention Sheba still had her mother after all, even if Irene wasn't around. "Is she the reason why you're home a bit late?"

"Obviously," Sherlock sat his glass aside. "Come here. Sit down." He indicated the other side of the couch. John did so after hesitating a moment, putting Gladstone onto the floor. "Remember I told you. I need only two. One man. One woman."

"Yes."

"At the time, I thought the Woman was dead," Sherlock went on. "I told you that it's just you then."

"But she's not dead."

"You missed the point."

John also put his wine aside. "What point might that be?" He didn't mean to sound upset but it came out more heated than planned.

"While I thought she was dead, I only needed you," Sherlock waited a moment. Frustrated, he gave up on John. "There are no replacements. Understand?"

"If Irene or I ever die before you, there will be no one else in your life?"

"Now you're getting it," Sherlock sat back, pleased. "I don't need any one else. Just you & her."

"One man. One woman."

"Exactly." Sherlock shifted so that he was lying flat out across the couch, head in John's lap. Hands folded under chin, he stared off into his Mind Palace.

John picked up his glass in one hand. As he swirled the red liquid around, he whispered softly, "What are you looking for?"

"I'm trying to figure out where Shane put MY Lamborghini!" Sherlock grumbled, finally looking up into John's face. "He didn't leave me any clue whatsoever." He went back to the Mind Palace.

John started laughing. "You are unbelievable."

"Shane left me a new Lamborghini!" Sherlock insisted.

"I know, I know," John pushed Sherlock away so he could get up. He was still laughing. Sherlock glared before attempting his Mind Palace once more. Where was that car? John just shook his head. It was amazing how quickly Sherlock could jump from one topic to another. While John was still in 'Ok I have to share him with Irene' mode, Sherlock had dumped the poor war doctor…for a car. "Sherlock, I called Greg a while ago. He wants to talk to you. So does Mycroft."

Sherlock bemoaned his anger at being kicked out of his Mind Palace with a low rumble deep in his throat. Gladstone echoed the growl. "Quiet you confounded mutt!" With a dull thud, he slammed the palm of his hand on the arm of the couch as he sat up, thinking he would just have to wait until John went to sleep so he could think properly.

John suddenly added, "Shane probably put that car someplace where Mycroft can't shoot it. It would have to be some place you would know well."

"Excellent point," Sherlock marched up to the low coffee table in the center of the room & stepped up on it, not breaking his stride. "Mycroft can wait until tomorrow. But it is definitely time I go back to work." He called Lestrade.

John made as if to move for his chair, arms folded. "I think he's a purebred, not a mutt." Gladstone ran up to his heels, waiting to jump into John's lap … provided that doctor ever sat down.

Sherlock ignored them both, waiting for the officer to answer. "Sherlock? Do you mind explaining to me why there's a Lamborghini in my garage?"

"A Lambo in your garage? So that's where he put it!"

"Oh!" John whirled around just in time to see Sherlock's whole countenance light up. He accidently stepped on Gladstone & nearly fell over. The dog yipped & ran under the table. "Sorry! You poor little pup." He lay down on the floor trying to summon Gladstone back.

"Where who put it?" Lestrade asked.

"My brother," Sherlock replied, knowing Lestrade would think of Mycroft but Shane was an unmentionable so he compromised. "I'll be right over to get it." He hung up. "Oh I feel like it's Christmas!" Sherlock actually leapt three feet off the table and just as many over. He landed just barely off the edge of the coffee table. He grabbed his coat.

"You're going over there now?"

"Why not? Mrs. Hudson is here," Sherlock wrapped his scarf around. "She can check on Sheba. I'd bring her along but someone put her to bed."

"Little girls do need bedtimes," John glared.

"I know that," Sherlock insisted. "Children are different from adults. Now are you coming for a ride?"

"Am I driving?" John changed position to kneel on the carpet. Gladstone glared from under the table.

"In your dreams," Sherlock smiled sweetly.

John ground his teeth, standing. "Get going!" He followed after. He WILL drive that car. End of discussion.

"Daddy? Are you going somewhere?"

Sherlock turned to the girl & actually sent her a smile. "Would you like a ride in the world's best car?"

"Yeah!"

Sherlock looked up at John's disapproving glare. "What? She's awake now thanks to you & that animal! Good luck getting her to sleep any time soon."

"Gladstone, watch the place," John muttered. They had Sheba in a coat a few moments later & were out the door. They went by cab to Lestrade's home. The garage door was already opened, revealing the new Lambo, glistening in the evening's nearly-set sun.

Sherlock stared at the thing. It was a Matte Black Aventador with a bit of orange splashed into its wheels. He whispered to John so Lestrade won't hear. "No prizes guessing who my favourite brother is."

John could only look away as he whistled, "Whew!"

"I came home earlier to find this thing here," Lestrade began once Sherlock was standing beside the car. "It had a note under one wiper. Your name. That was it."

"My first one was destroyed in the bombing of the Tube," Sherlock said off-hand, admiring the inside through the window. The interior had black leather seats.

"Nice of your brother to replace it," Lestrade said. "I don't get why he left it here though?"

"Probably an indication for me to get back to work," Sherlock said. In reality, he knew why. Shane bought the Lambo. Not Mycroft. In fact, Mycroft had yet to know about the new car. Knowing how Mycroft hated the sound these particular machines made, Shane was wise to not tell him.

"Things haven't been the same without you."

"Ah you admit that the force needs me?"

"Sherlock," John face-palmed.

"Haven't changed a bit have you?" Lestrade laughed. Then he looked down at the girl hiding behind John's legs. "Well ok, a little bit."

Sherlock got down on one knee & held out a hand. "Sheba Marie. Come here." The girl ran to him, clutching her plush goose by one webbed foot.

"Where'd you get the name?" Lestrade asked, coming over to meet her.

"Her Mummy wanted her name to start with the same letters mine did," Sherlock rolled his eyes. "A silly notion but whatever. Marie is Mrs. Hudson's first name."

"Named her after a friend then," Lestrade nodded, holding out a hand to the girl. "Hello." 

"Named her after all of them," Sherlock said. "Sheba Marie Molly Lestrade Watson. We also used her mother's maiden name but due to security reasons I can not mention that. Yet."

John & Lestrade looked at each other in surprise.

"Well," Lestrade finally said. "That's quite the name. Plus Holmes as well."

"No," Sherlock stood up.

"You went with the mother's name only?" John asked.

"I had renounced my family name once," Sherlock replied. "No need to add it to Sheba's." He looked down at her. "Sheba, what would your Mummy think if you don't mind your manners? Say Hello to your Uncle Greg."

"Hi," Sheba said quickly. John stared in surprise. Sherlock teaching the girl manners? Irene must have trained him.

"She'll love to make a couple of friends," Lestrade opened the door to his house. He led Sherlock, John & Sheba inside. "Hey boys? Get down here now!" He yelled up the stairs to his two sons. While waiting for them to obey, Lestrade ushered the two men forward into the kitchen. Sheba lagged behind. "Ah, my wife has put on the washing. Good that means the boys will be presentable."

"You two are together again," Sherlock mused. "I must warn you, I saw her with another teacher at the boys' school a few months ago."

"We're working it out," Lestrade glared. "Which one now?"

"The math instructor."

The boys in question arrived at that moment. "Yes Dad?" There were about four years older than Sheba.

"This is Sheba, your little cousin," Lestrade glanced around for the girl (_Ca-lunk Ca-lunk)_. "There you are." He put a hand on her shoulder as she came running back from wherever she had been. "You watch her for a bit?"

"She's a gi—ok," the boys gave in at a triple glare. Sheba was probably the only girl in the house at the moment. (_Ca-lunk Ca-lunk)_

"Dad? Aren't you going out on duty?"

"Yes, why?" (_Ca-lunk Ca-lunk)_

"Have you forgotten something?"

"No, I don't think so." (_Ca-lunk Ca-lunk)_

"Then where's your gun?"

"At my hi…my…erm," Lestrade felt around only to find an empty holster. _(Ca-lunk Ca-lunk) _"Where is it?"

"Washing!" Sheba beamed.

"What?"_ (Ca-lunk Ca-lunk)_

"I help Uncle Greg clean!"

"Sheba-Marie," Sherlock eyed her like a hawk. "I told you not to pickpocket." A second later. "Did you put that gun in the washing?" _(Ca-lunk Ca-lunk)_

"So that's the banging," John gasped. "I thought it was just the lady of the house."

"THAT THING'S LOADED!" Lestrade yelped.

It was an extremely rare occurrence to see sheer horror in Sherlock's face. "Vatican Cameos!" He dived for the floor, dragging Sheba down with him. Everyone followed suit.

_**BANG!**_

"How many rounds?" John yelled. _(Ca-lunk Ca-lunk)_

"Six!"

_**BANG BANG!**_

"Three left."

"Get over here now!" Lestrade called to his sons. _(Ca-lunk Ca-lunk) _The others shuffled along the floor on their stomachs to a better location.

"Greg what's goi—"

"COME HERE!" Lestrade stood up, grabbed the woman & threw her to the floor. He landed on top of her.

_(Ca-lunk **BANG!** Ca-lunk)_

"Sheba-Marie Molly Lestrade Watson A.!" Sherlock ground out most of the full name, using just the initial for the last one. "What were you thinking? If you were thinking at—" _**BANG!**_ "—all?"

"I help Uncle clean!" She was so happy it was sickening.

"You stupid child!" Sherlock shouted so loud the neighbours heard him. "Your mother would put Glocks in a SAFE, but never the washing! Stupid girl. Stupid _**STUPID**_ GIRL! Where do you get your stupidity from?"

_(Ca-lunk Ca-lunk)_

"But I help clean!" Sheba protested.

"No honey! Don't help!" Lestrade tried so hard to keep his voice even. "I don't need help to—" _**BANG!**_ "—day. OH FINALLY!"

_(Ca-lunk Ca-lunk … Ca-lunk Ca-lunk)_

The cowed group slowly but surely got off the floor.

_(Ca-lunk Ca-lunk … Ca-lunk Ca-lunk)_

"Greg?"

"In a moment," Lestrade shushed his wife as he cautiously made his way to the washing machine. "I'll get it out."

_(Ca-lunk Ca-lunk … Ca-lunk Ca-lunk)_

"Come here!" Sherlock grabbed Sheba by the arm. "I promised your mother I'd never do this but—Woman forgive me!" At that, Sherlock turned the girl around & gave her one hard loud spank on her bottom. She looked up, tears about to spill over. "Cry at that & I'll smack you again. You do not put pistols, guns, knives, bombs or any sort of weaponry in a washing machine. Do you understand? Don't cry or I WILL!" He raised his palm again, not to mention his voice. "Strike you! Again! Harder than before. Understand?" Once Sherlock had finished his rant, another rare moment, everyone noticed that the 'ca-lunking' had stopped.

"Ruined! My sidearm is utterly & completely ruined!" Lestrade came back, suds up his arms, destroyed gun in one hand. "Not to mention my machine has leaks in it now."

There was another smack & Sheba finally did start crying. Sherlock had just spanked her for the second time ever. John pressed the palm of his right hand to his forehead. Sherlock shook his head. "Unbelievable. This is not how I'm trying to raise you, my child. How can you be so bloody stupid?" He shoved his hands into his pockets & marched out the back door to get some air.

The others waited a few minutes to give Sherlock some space, then filed out after. They sat around on the garden chairs spread out on the lawn, a red-faced sniffling Sheba-Marie following last & ended up sitting cross-legged on the grass in the center. All sat in silence, apart from Sheba's sniffles & whimpers.

A snort. Side-glances at John & then back to glaring at Sheba. A cough from Lestrade, trying to hide his laugh. Then his wife pinched her nose with her fingers, hiccupping from laughter. Finally, she burst out laughing altogether. Lestrade was next & then John & the two boys. Sherlock just raised a brow, not impressed. Not impressed at all. He had half a mind to slam Sheba's brain, useless as it seemed to be, out the back of her skull. Really not impr—he doubled over in his chair, laughing at last.

"Stop laughing at me!" Sheba shrieked, crying harder. "IT'S NOT FUNNY!" This had the opposite effect of what the baby girl wanted as John & then Sherlock only succeeded in literally falling off their chairs from laughing so hard. Lestrade & WFE couldn't see from sobbing laughter & were soon rolling on the grass as well. Sheba burst into a new tirade of tears.

"You stupid child!" Sherlock managed to say between fits of laughter. John was by now, half on his neck & he could feel John's tears dripping onto his flesh & running across his throat to the other side.

"Stupid girl indeed!" John gasped as Sherlock sighed heavily, finally able to cease laughing. He was the last to start & the first to end, slipping back into his usual Iceman persona.

Everyone sooner or later managed to stand up. Sherlock cast another glare at Sheba, shook his head & marched away, curls still bouncing from shaking his head.

"Don't ever do that again, little lady," Lestrade finally put in his own accusation. He tried to lift Sheba up.

"Leave me alone!" Sheba was reduced to a puddle of tears in the grass by now.

"Oh no you don't," Lestrade snatched her up over his shoulder. He carried her inside.

"This is what happens when you allow little girls to stay up when they get out of bed," John was saying to Sherlock.

Sherlock merely glared. He picked up Honky-Tonks from the floor & stuffed the thing under one arm. "I didn't think she'd do something so ridiculous as that."

"She's just under three years old," John pointed out. "She doesn't know any better."

Lestrade set Sheba down on the floor. "Never a dull day when the Holmes are around."

Sheba nearly ran to her father but caught the glare he was still sending her. She hid behind Lestrade's legs instead. "I want Honky-Tonks."

"Then come over here & get it!" Sherlock threatened. "Come over here right now."

"No!"

"Then you're not having it," Sherlock waved a hand in the air, not caring. He then grabbed the bill. "Honk!"

"NO!" Sheba yelled.

"Fine," Sherlock turned to John. "Shall we take that Lambo out?"

"Sherlock," John reproved.

"What, no good?"

"Nope," John shook his head.

Sherlock thought a moment before pointing out, "She doesn't want to come out & get it."

"I want my goose!" Sheba wailed, still behind Lestrade's legs.

"Well you're not getting it!" Sherlock shot back. "I'm keeping it now. I'll give it to Gladstone for a chew toy."

"Children, not now," John warned as Sheba started crying again.

"John," Sherlock whined at the interruption.

"It's my goose! MINE! Not Gladst'n's!"

"You're making her cry again!" John shot back. "A man who makes a woman cry is a horrible person!"

Sherlock glared. John glared right back. Lestrade tried not to exist. Sherlock huffed. "Sheba, do you want the bird or not?" He held it out.

"Y-yes," Sheba whimpered.

"Then come here," His icy eyes glowered at her. "Move it, child!"

"Easy!" John put his hands on his hips. Sherlock tried a smile if only to shut that war doctor up. But a smile & a glare at the same time did not work & the look he ended up with was enough to send Moriarty himself running for his Mummy's skirts. Frightened away, Sheba stepped back behind Lestrade's legs crying softly to herself.

Sherlock turned back to John & held up his arms in an 'Oh well, I tried' sort of way. "Shall we go?"

"Dam—mm—rn it," John tried not to swear in front of Sheba. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist & pulled him close. He pushed forward until Sherlock was against the wall & then caught his lips with his own in a prolonged kiss. (Lestrade really tried hard not to exist.) "Feel better?"

"So what if I do?" Sherlock shrugged a little, hard to do considering he was against the wall & in John's arms. "She's still crying."

"Oh Sheba? Come here," John purred. Sheba peeked out between Lestrade's legs. "Look what I can make your Daddy do." He tried kissing him again. He ended up kissing Honky-Tonks right on the bill. Sherlock laughed. Whatever. It had the desired affect. Sheba took a few steps forward.

"Sherlock!" John mumbled, bill still pressed firmly in his mouth. He pushed away. "Give me that." He snatched the toy out of Sherlock's hand. "Here." Sheba came up to John's side & took back her favorite toy. "Now we can go."

Sheba cuddled the Canada goose plushie to her chest. Then, surprising everyone, she sent the exact same scowl right back to her father. "Don't touch again!" She stomped her foot much the same way John did, like a snarly rabbit.

"Fine, if it falls in the fire or something, I won't bother!"

"_Merde! (Shit!)"_ John swore in French, hoping Sheba wouldn't pick it up. He marched after Sherlock, planning to have a little talk with him about fatherhood as soon as possible.

"Oh shut up. If you want to play 'good parent/bad parent' with me, so be it!"

"HOLMES!" John cried out in frustration.


	30. Chapter 30

**(30) Of Blog Wars & Heists**

The Lamborghini nearly floated over the road as Sherlock pushed it harder into the curves, letting it drift. They stayed on the outskirts of London until Lestrade needed them. It was the first night for both of them to be back at work. Sheba was eventually brought back to 221B & left in bed since Mrs. Hudson was around to watch her.

Sherlock & John worked two murders that night, somehow linked. Anderson didn't once snap at them or make a snide remark. In fact, he said nothing to them at all. Donovan was not on the team that time but she was back at the office. She didn't see the pair come in.

Sherlock stepped up behind her as she sat at the desk. "I take it you're Team Edward then?"

Sally yelped & spun her chair around. Sherlock quickly leaned forward both hands on the edge of the desk & to either side of her so that she on her chair was trapped. "What?"

"You like vampires," Sherlock pointed out. "If I was into that sort of thing, I'd be Team Jacob myself seeing as I have no choice. My family seem to be into dogs." He glared at John who didn't notice as he had his face hidden in both hands.

"I don't know this person!" John suddenly said loudly, walking away.

"Yes you do," Sherlock called after him. "Biblically at that."

_**"SHERLOCK!"**_

That from the entire force, John included.

"It's true," Sherlock attempted a little shrug, hard to do from leaning over holding onto a desk. Sherlock turned back to Sally & bared his teeth.

"Oh my!" Sally gasped, leaning back in her chair. Sherlock had fangs.

Lestrade rolled his eyes. "Give them here!" He held out his hand.

Sherlock only raised his eyes. "I was onl—"

"I don't care! Hand that over."

"Well you're no fun," Sherlock pouted. He stood up straight, passed his fingers through his lips & handed over the tiny plastic fangs.

Lestrade shook his head. "This is your fault Watson!"

"How?" John stared incredulously.

"It just is. Deal with it!" Lestrade stomped off to his office & slammed the door. He opened it, remembering the pair. "You two. In here now!" He set the fangs to one side on his desk. "Now, why do you think these two are linked?"

"They both have the same sort of wound on their left shoulders," Sherlock pointed out. "Two parallel lines, or perhaps an eleven. Wounds made after death by the way."

"Alright, what do you need?"

Sherlock fiddled with his scarf for a moment. "Last case I worked, we all got into a lot of trouble. Are you allowing me to help you?"

"Yes, of course," Lestrade nodded.

"Good," Sherlock held up a small recorder. "That way if anything goes wrong, John & I are off the hook. It's all on your head." Lestrade scowled but Sherlock went on. "I need a few samples for the lab. The usual."

"One condition."

"Really, what is it?"

"Quit harassing my officers, one in particular."

"Miss Donovan simply doesn't know her job," Sherlock said. "Neither does she like it that I have to do it for her."

"Do you want those samples or not?"

"Of course I do."

"Then never speak to her again unless it's life or death."

"I'll choose death. Every time."

"Sherlock," John moaned.

"Good," Lestrade also held up a recorder. Sherlock glared. Lestrade snickered. "Learned from the best, Holmes."

"I have a dog," Sherlock threatened.

"I have two young boys who might take Sheba's virginity some day. Bark all you like."

"_Oh-h-h-h_ _merde!"_ ("Oh-h-h-h shit!") John turned his face away, unable to handle Sherlock's horrific glare (it was so very close to the one he'd send Moriarty, a purely demonic glower) or Lestrade's gleeful triumph. "That was SO low!"

"Well noted!" Sherlock finally manage to hiss between gritted teeth, not pleased at all. "But she could be lesbian for all we know."

"We'll see," was all Lestrade said. Little smile. Sherlock scowled even more.

The three of them got up. Sherlock headed for the door. John was behind, looking back at Lestrade & mouthing, 'Low man. VERY low!'

Lestrade mouthed back, 'I know & I LOVED every second of it!'

John thumbed up & hurried out the office after Sherlock.

Sally watched the Lambo pull away & shook her head. "I can't believe those two are back."

"Problem?" Lestrade asked in a flat voice.

"Forget it," Sally slammed a pile of papers together. "Good night." She left without another word or even a look back. Lestrade put his hands in the air for a moment before returning to his office.

The Lambo came to an abrupt halt. "Get out & walk."

"I'm not going to do that."

"Then quit laughing!"

"Sorry!" John laughed harder.

"GET OUT!"

John stopped laughing & sent Sherlock a cute owl-ish look. "But-but William!" He pouted. "There's a killer out there. I could get murdered."

"Who's to say you won't in here?"

John gave up the act. "I'll take my chances." He put a hand on Sherlock's leg.

Sherlock lifted the hand off & put it back on John's leg before putting the midnight-black beast in gear once more. "Be quiet then." John clapped both hands over his mouth, trying desperately to silence himself.

The Lambo stopped again. "Watson!"

"Sorry!" John straightened up & set his face straight.

Sherlock moved the car once more. He'll get rid of him! "Sheba might wake up during the night. You can watch her & laugh all you like out of my sight. I'm going to the lab."

"Thanks, little lover," John scowled as the Lambo lurched to a halt in front of the steps.

"Good night," Sherlock snapped in a voice that meant any wish but.

"I'll just be, ya know, guarding Sheba's virginity."

"Oh for God's sake!" Sherlock sped off with a roar from the engines.

John was trying so hard not to laugh out loud for fear of waking up both Mrs. Hudson & Sheba that he tripped UP the stairs. "That was good! Why didn't I think of that?" He finally made it to the top stair. He was about to go into the flat but found himself going up one more level. John was soon in front of Shane's door. He knocked on it, then tried the handle. It swung open. The flat was empty. John walked around in it, looking for anything. He opened the top drawer in the bedroom's dresser. A pair of fur-lined black gloves lay there but nothing else. Inspecting the gloves, John realised that it was a lady's pair. "…Enola…." He stood there, holding the gloves in one hand & sighed.

John returned to the flat below. He checked on Sheba still asleep in bed. Gladstone moved around between his feet trying to trip him. John then moved to his own bedroom. He put the nearly-new gloves away. Someday perhaps, Sheba could use them maybe at that prom one of Lestrade's boys would take her to if she didn't end up liking girls instead, of course.

He sat down on the armchair, pulling his laptop on him, much to Gladstone's displeasure. While the laptop turned on, John checked his mobile for the first time in ages. Among others, he had a few texts from his therapist, inquiring on how he was doing & when he'd come back. John raised his brow in surprise. He had completely forgotten about her these past few months.

John laid it aside. It was too late call her right now. She was in for a surprise when he did. He then stared at the screen, changing his plans. He was originally going to look something up to help Sherlock but switched to his old blog which he hadn't used or even looked at in three years. He signed in.

_I have had a shocking time these past few months. There is much I can not say due to security reasons but much I can as well._

_As most know, my best friend …Sherlock Holmes … had jumped to his death three years ago._

_Turns out that was a lie. Yes for those who watch the news, you heard right. That Lamborghini was indeed registered to one Sherlock Holmes & he drove it that day._

_A lot of people died that day. Thanks to Mycroft Holmes, the bombing of the Tube wasn't that bad & repairs are more than half way through on that. But that ship … I still have images of bodies lain out on the beach to be claimed. I fear I will never get rid of them. Twenty two are still missing to this day, not likely to be found._

_Rest assured James Moriarty is dead at last. In fact, he was the one & only body pulled up from the destruction left by the blasted Tube. Got caught in his own game at last. Served him right as far as I'm concerned._

_As for Sherlock, he is perfectly fine. His death so-called was merely a ploy really to dodge James Moriarty & a few men of his. For these past three years, my friend has been running all over the world, undoing Moriarty's web string by string. _

_Then he came home. First surprise. _

_Second surprise? He has a daughter. I will not post her name though at this time. Neither will I say more on this matter. She's too young for such publicity right now. She is beautiful & funny & causes lots of trouble as most toddlers do. That's all any one needs to know._

_Third surprise? We found a dog. Sherlock doesn't like him much but…oh who cares? I've always wanted a dog! It's a mini Doberman named Gladstone._

_The last surprise I can post is possibly one everyone has been waiting for. I am no longer Sherlock's friend. I have been 'upgraded' as he so delicately put it, to being his mate._

_Yeah I can hear the fan-girls screaming from here. Please don't pass out on the front steps though. I would not like to trip over you._

_-singed out: John Watson._

"I can't believe I just posted that," John sat back. It was strange writing again. He closed his eyes, balling the little dog between his bare feet down on the floor. He felt Gladstone heave a sigh, trying to be content with what he got at the moment. John took up the laptop again. He closed the blog off & began doing the research he had planned on in the first place.

He read everything he could, spending a few hours sifting through forums, various groups & other sites of information. John was in a doze at last just as dawn arrived. He woke up an hour later to Sheba's persistent pecking on his arm using Honky-Tonks.

John yawned & stretched, nearly losing the laptop. A quick grab saved the thing. "Is your Daddy home yet?"

"No," Sheba shook her head.

"Oh well, he probably won't be for a while," John said. "Why don't we go out for breakfast? I have to buy something for him anyway." Sheba nodded & ran for her room to get her coat. John was about to close the laptop but quickly called up the page for his blog.

_Third surprise is not a dog. It's a creature most likely from Baskerville. Also, if I recall correctly, he isn't yours but my daughter's. Correct me if I'm wrong …if you dare._

_The fourth one should be no surprise at all. It was fairly obvious where we were going as a pair. The lot of London—indeed England—talked about us like nothing else. It's elementary, my dear Watson._

_Finally, how insulting. There are fan-boys as well you know yet you did not bother to mention them._

_Somebody fetch me my revolver._

_-signed out: Sherlock Holmes._

John glared at the screen. Those were just the first posts. He had about fifty or so underneath from followers glad about the news, mostly the last bit but still. John was only concerned with Sherlock's for now. "Why you!" He signed in.

_THE dog then. The damn dog! Satisfied?_

_Well if any non-believers were looking for proof… there it is. He's back!_

_-signed out: John Watson._

Quicker than a rabbit a new comment went up:

_Obvious as ever._

_-singed out: Sherlock Holmes._

John huffed & posted again:

_Hey Mycroft, if you're reading this, Sherlock has a new Lamborghini. Matte Black Aventador. Oh & Sherlock? Don't you have a certain murderer to annoy or something? _

_-signed out: John Watson._

Almost at the same time:

_Do my favorite lovebirds need separate Confessional stands when the mating cycle is over?_

_-signed out: Mycroft Holmes._

_Shut up Mycroft! Pay no attention to our war doctor!_

_John? Or something._

_-signed out: Sherlock Holmes._

_Don't tell me to shut up, little one! Where's that ****** car? I'm going to shoot it through the radiator! "angry icon"  
><em>

_-signed out: Mycroft Holmes._

_Not before I run you over with it. "evil grin icon"_

_-signed out: Sherlock Holmes._

"Uh oh, they're starting up with their 'icon wars'," John posted one more thing before running for his cyber-life.

_Mycroft? The next time anyone sees me anywhere near a Confessional is after I murder you!_ _Anyway,_ _play nicely boys. I have a breakfast date with a lovely little lady & I don't want to be late, so don't make me put you in opposite corners._

_-singed out: John Watson_

_That's nice of you John but be careful. She is allergic to chocolate._

_-singed out: (Anon)_

_Will, how dare you? Wait 'til I get my hands on you! "exploding icon"_

_-signed out: Mycroft Holmes._

_Yes, no chocolate, John. Also, she's too young to date & you're not 'the one' for her either. Besides, you're way too old. _

_Mycroft? Come to the lab & say what you want to my face. "arms crossed icon"_

_-signed out: Sherlock Holmes_

_Sorry. I'm busy. "tongue-out icon" _

_-signed out: Mycroft Holmes._

_Convenient as ever! "raised brow icon"_

_-signed out: Sherlock Holmes._

_I'm merely looking for the biggest bazooka to blow up your car. "smile icon"_

_-singed out: Mycroft Holmes_

_To hell with my revolver. John? GET ME AN A-BOMB! "several angry-glare icons" I can build that._

_-signed out: Sherlock Holmes._

_Way too old? Oh, you're going down baby! DOWN! "gritted teeth mad icon"_

_-signed out: John Watson._

John glared at the screen. Then he raised his brow, wondering who that 'Anon' was but the post was soon drowned out by the bickering of the two younger Holmes brothers. He turned the laptop off, not wanting to get between those two when they began fighting. He had Sheba dressed up in a little yellow dress, her dark auburn & black hair falling freely down her back & out the door before any more posts went up. "Well it's a good thing I never offered you chocolate," he remarked to Sheba as they walked down the street. "Let's get that strawberry custard you like." Sheba nodded, holding his hand on one side while gripping Honky-Tonks firmly in her free hand.

They spent the morning out & around the city. John brought the girl to a few different parks before turning to a street of smaller shops. He started with some window shopping, looking for one thing in particular. He finally found a place that sold handcrafted jewellery from wood, shell & stone. Browsing around inside, John soon found something & was about to pick up a little box.

"Are you sure you want that one?"

"Wha…?" John nearly knocked the box over. He set it back before losing it. "Mycroft, aren't you cyber-fighting with Sherlock?"

"Oh, you haven't seen then?"

"Uncle Adri!" Sheba pulled away from John's hand & ran to stand between Mycroft's legs.

"Seen what?" John glanced between the two, remembering Sherlock didn't want them together.

"Ooo I think Sherlock is going to be in the doghouse for a bit," Mycroft chuckled a bit. "Just wait until you read his next few posts."

"I'd rather switch websites," John muttered. "What has he done n—actually, forget it. What are you doing here? I haven't talked to Sherlock about—you know." He gestured at the girl.

"We'll deal with him later," Mycroft shrugged. "You know about the Woman now?" After John's nod, he went on. "I don't think he'll be mad anymore anyway."

"Let's hope not."

"You're looking for a certain kind of ring for Sherlock," Mycroft changed the subject back. "A Demisexual symbol. Why not go to a real jewellers?"

"Sherlock doesn't like it all that fancy," John said. "Besides, I just need hematite. That's what the websites all said."

"You do that, you'll have to get him one every week," Mycroft picked up the black ring John almost took, pulled it from the box & dropped it. The ring shattered. "See what I mean? I'll go pay for that, then take you to a proper store."

Mycroft put both John & Sheba in the back of the limo & brought them to a fine store. There was everything from gold & silver, to rubies, diamonds & other precious gems in every cut imaginable. Earrings, necklaces, rings were everywhere. So were the price tags.

"Um, this is a bit out of my range, Mycroft," John began, leading Sheba behind him with one hand.

"No it isn't," Mycroft opened the door & entered. "You're family. You've had access to the Holmes account for a while."

"How much would that be?"

"The cheapest thing in here is probably two thousand quid," Mycroft began. "The most expensive is three point seventy five million. I can buy that five times over & still have plenty left over. You do the math. Now, go find a proper black ring."

John took about forty minutes looking over the rings until he found a mostly black one. It was just over three thousand. It was placed in a box of deep green velvet, sitting on white satin inside. Mycroft & John were the first out the door. John stood holding it open & called for Sheba who took her time appearing. After a sharp whistle & another call she finally came running up to them.

Everything could not go more wrong after that moment.

Sherlock looked up from the microscope as his mobile buzzed. Checking it, he noticed a number he did not recognise. He put it back & went back to work. The mobile buzzed again. Three more times with the same number. Sherlock muttered under breath. If those idiots called one more time—just ONE more time! They would lose an ear from him lecturing them to not interrupt his work. It did not buzz again.

Moments later, Molly came in. "Sherlock, you have a call." She held out her phone.

"Mycroft or John?"

"No one I know," Molly held it out persistently.

"They can call back." Eyes back into the scope.

"Sorry, he's busy," Molly turned away.

Five minutes later, the hospital PA system sounded forth. "Call for Sherlock Holmes on Line 2. Line 2 for Sherlock Holmes."

"You have got to be kidding me!" Sherlock kicked back, sending his wheeled chair across the floor to the opposite side. He finally picked up the blasted landline. "This had better be good or I'm hanging up!" Moments later, Sherlock stood so fast he startled Molly. "Could you … uh…could you repeat that please?"

Molly waited expectantly as Sherlock finally hung up. "What happened?"

"My husband. My brother. My daughter," Sherlock shook his head. "All ended up in jail today for a jewellery heist of half a million pounds. I have to go bail them out." He was already halfway out the door, putting on his coat.

"WHAT?" Molly hurried after.

The Lamborghini pulled into the parking lot of the prison & stopped in front of the door. Sherlock sat back, hands still on the wheel. "This had better not hurt Mycroft's career." He leaned forward & began scanning around through the window for any assassins. If Mycroft was ruined, they were all dead.

"I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding," Molly tried to assure him.

"Sheba is a thief," Sherlock explained. "She's been pick-pocketing ever since she learned to walk. Her Mummy & I have been trying to correct her. Now this." He got out & headed inside, Molly close behind.

It took a few minutes to locate the three thieves. John & Mycroft were locked away. Sherlock left them there, much to their displeasure. Sheba was being held in an office with two women & a man. The man was the owner of the store. Both women were drilling Sheba, asking how she was trained & if she was told to lift things before.

"Give me that goose!" Sherlock burst in on them, went straight for the sobbing frightened girl & wrenched Honky-Tonks from her hands. He threw it behind him. "What is the matter with you? Your Mummy & I have told you time & time again not to sneak things away! What did we tell you?" He actually grabbed her shoulders & shook her for emphasis. He stood up.

"We're bringing up Dr. Watson & Mr. Holmes right now," the man said. "We'll get this sorted. I'll find out who trained her."

"Do you not know who I am, you fool?" Sherlock snapped. "No one trained her. Sheba does that on her own."

"I know who you're supposed to be," the man shot back. "Dead. That's what. Dead! I'll have all of you brought to court for this."

"Did you get the necklace back?"

"Yes."

"Then what is your problem?"

"I was robbed," the man glared, so mad he was hopping on the spot with the rage. Was Sherlock Holmes really this stupid? "I will have justice!"

"On a child not even three years old?" Sherlock glared back, actually shivering he was rather quite put out himself. Was that storeowner really this stupid?

Mycroft & John were led in as the storeowner went on, "Those two were at the door waiting for her. He called for the girl," the man indicated John. "The limo was right behind them but they never made another step for it."

"They were in the door, in front of all to see," Sherlock repeated. "Calling for Sheba & took their time with it? You never had a heist—a real heist—happen to you yet, did you?"

"I'm telling you what I saw!"

"What you saw was merely a family whose little girl likes shiny things!" Sherlock rounded on the two prisoners. "What were you even doing in a jewellery store?"

"Well, I—" John began.

"With Sheba? You know how she is! How could you forget that?" Sherlock then glared at Mycroft. "You're not even allowed around her. What were you thinking?"

"My goose!" Sheba called out, looking down at the floor where Honky-Tonks lay.

"Silence, child!" Sherlock glowered at her. "You don't deserve your goose when you've been bad." He picked it up. "Let's go home. I'll bail you two out downstairs." He was about to leave.

"We can't let you do that," one of the women spoke up.

"Fine. Mycroft & John can stay here then," Sherlock turned back. "Sheba Marie?" He held out his free hand, waiting, ignoring the smouldering glares of the two prisoners.

"Take the girl home," the lady explained. "We need to investigate this."

"I am William Sherlock Scott Holmes!" Sherlock glared at her. "That is my child Sheba Marie Molly Lestrade Watson A. & I will be taking her home right now."

"No sir, you're not."

Sherlock's brow went down, giving him a hawkish glare. He advanced on the woman. "What did you say to me?"

"Until all this is sorted, she must be taken out of the suspicious home," the woman tried not to back down.

"I'm her Godmother," Molly stepped up ahead of Sherlock. "She can come with me."

"She can if you don't live any where near those two," the woman indicated Sherlock & John.

"Can't we just take her home?" John asked.

"Dr. Watson, you are a criminal in this," The woman said. John face-palmed as best he could being handcuffed in front. 

"Sheba is the one wh—"

"The point is, Mr. Holmes," the woman interrupted, batting her lashes defiantly with every syllable. "Neither of you can take her right now." Sherlock huffed indignantly.

"I work for the British Secret Service," Mycroft began.

"We'll see about that," the first woman said.

"Just because you're Sherlock Holmes, doesn't make you above the law," said the other woman, hand on Sheba's to lead her out. "Miss Hooper, come with me."

"HA!" Mycroft scoffed looking away.

"Shut up Adrian! You're not helping," Sherlock ordered, heading down the stairs after the lady holding HIS daughter's hand.

As they entered the front lobby, Sheba pulled away from the woman. "I want Honky-Tonks."

"You lifted a half million pound necklace. You quite possible destroyed Mycroft's career & therefore responsible for all our lives yet all you can care about is this?" Sherlock held up the goose. Sheba smiled, racing forward, thinking he was going to give it to her. "You will never see this goose again." Sherlock threw it hard across the room. It landed on top of a garbage can.

"Come with me, Sheba," Molly grabbed the girl's hand.

With sudden horror, Sheba somehow realised that Honky-Tonks would never come home with her again. Lost forever. Her eyes went wide. "NO NO! I WANT MY GOOSE! MY GOOSE!" She started screaming, fighting the hand that held her. "HE'S MINE! HONKY-TONKS!" The woman didn't listen as she herded Molly & the girl away & put them in the car. Mycroft & John shared a look. It was heart-breaking to see Sheba so frantic.

Sherlock was the only one who didn't seem to care about the toy. He did care that she was leaving without him. He trotted to the door to silently watch the car leave. John & Mycroft didn't know what was worse. Honky-Tonks or watching Sherlock losing his child. At least Molly was with her. Sherlock turned & headed to the desk. He paid the bail for both of them & shoved them into the back of the Lambo.

Sherlock caught Mycroft's eye in the rear-view mirror. "Can Shane help?"

"I'll see what I can do."

They drove a while in silence. "Adrian? If this messes your career …"

"Yes Will," Mycroft nodded. "We are."

We're all dead, was left unsaid, No one could say much. If Mycroft was no longer an agent, he couldn't get close to his corrupt boss to kill him. He couldn't clear the Holmes name.


	31. Chapter 31

OMG I AM SOOOOO SORRY! I'm in the middle of packing & painting the house to sell for a move & I lost my penstick!

I know I would NOT pack my penstick but just couldn't find it at all! GRRRRRRRRR

I write on a laptop in my room without internet & then switch to the family computer with internet using that *#$*&#*$&# penstick!

ANYway... "tapes the fckng thing firmly to face for all eternity"...here we go "sigh" REALLY sorry for the wait...I tried honest I did!

* * *

><p><strong>(31) The Rose<strong>

It was a rather quiet flat they returned to late that afternoon. Gladstone came running up to greet them. Sherlock flipped himself over the couch as John flopped into his chair. He watched Sherlock fold his hands in prayer for his MindPalace. He had better pray! What a mess. Sherlock had not spoken to him once on the drive home after dropping Mycroft off near the jewellers to get into his Limo or after leaving Molly at the hospital. In fact, Sherlock hadn't spoken at all since that quick conversation asking for Shane's help. How? John wondered just how that hired hit man could help but decided not to think of it. He felt bad enough, now he'll have the death of some random woman on his hands as well?

John couldn't take it anymore. He stood up & walked over to gaze down at Sherlock's fake-sleeping form. "Are you hungry?" Nothing. Not even an annoyed brow twitch. "Do you want some t—?" His voice cracked. He cleared his throat. "Tea?" Still nothing. That was it. Sherlock hated him & with good reason. He had lost his child & quite possibly handed each & every Holmes (not to mention his own) their execution schedules. Even Shane's. Without Mycroft in the Service, keeping Shane one step ahead with his warnings, the poor man had no cover. All for a stupid black ring!

Mrs Hudson could be heard in the stairwell. Gladstone ran to the door, barking. John opened it, letting the dog shoot down the stairs. "Oh my goodness!" Mrs. Hudson laughed. "Yes yes. I have cookies for you. Hang on." John was soon by her side to help her into her own flat.

"I got some new things for Sheba," Mrs. Hudson began.

"Sheba's gone," John cut in.

"What?"

"It's all my fault!" John fought off the tears. He sat down at the little table & told her what happened. "Now, Sherlock won't even look at me. He hates me." He finished several minutes later. "I don't blame him."

"He doesn't hate you, honey."

"Yes he does," John insisted. "At least Sheba is with Molly but Sherlock & I won't be allowed near her. How can he not hate me?"

"Oh no, he doesn't! He's just mad. He'll get over it & then get you to help him bring Sheba home. You always help him."

"Come up stairs & remind him of that!" John got up & led the way.

Sherlock hadn't moved the whole time. He didn't move when they entered or when Gladstone jumped onto his chest between bent arms still with folded hands under chin. John & Mrs. Hudson talked a bit more, making tea & biscuits. If it weren't for the tiny dog going up & down with Sherlock's breathing, Sherlock could have been a corpse in a casket awaiting a funeral for all he appeared.

Sherlock's mobile began buzzing in the coat pocket. He was still wearing the coat. Suddenly, Sherlock moved. He opened his eyes as he fished the thing out. "Fixed yet?" A few moments went by. "Good." After several more minutes, he hung up. At last, he looked at John. "Get this mangy mutt off me, Watson!"

"Yes sir!" John snatched the thing away.

"Ah, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock called just as she had reached the door to leave. "Thank you for the tea," He got up & headed for the kitchen to pour himself some as if nothing happened. "Sheba will be home later."

"Oh thank goodness!" Mrs. Hudson simpered. "When?"

"A few days perhaps," Sherlock answered.

Once she left, John looked at Sherlock. "Shane?"

"That was him," Sherlock nodded. "He fixed Sheba's little heist."

"How?"

"Shane went in & bought the necklace," Sherlock explained. "saying he heard about it through the news of this heist. It would make a lovely gift for his wife on their anniversary. Irene by the way, not really his wife though. He also offered to pay double, saying any jewellery that was stolen but saved was worth more. Needless to say, the store owner was rather pleased. Shane put it into his head that the publicity the piece got was good. We'll be left alone by him now."

"What about that lady trying to keep Sheba away?" John went on. "What about Mycroft? Sherlock if he loses his career…"

"You don't need to tell me what will happen," Sherlock glared. "Shane ruined the woman's work. He put up some scandal about her always making wrong conclusions & ruining other families by taking children away. She won't bother us for a while. As for Mycroft, I don't know yet."

"I hope he can fix things," John worried.

"It was a misunderstanding really," Sherlock said. "He should be fine. Now, there are two things I want to know. What were you doing with Sheba in a place like that, knowing how she is? What was Mycroft there for? You know I don't want him around."

"I know why you don't want Mycroft around," John said. "But since Irene is alive & well, I thought you wouldn't care about that anymore."

"I have my reasons," Sherlock said.

John said, "Sherlock? Mycroft really likes Sheba. He wouldn't harm her. Just think about it?"

Sherlock just shook his head. "Why were you there?"

"Ah it's so stupid now," John sighed. "Actually I was in a small shop looking for a hematite ring. Mycroft brought me to the actual jewellers to get a better one that won't break."

"Hematite? Ah of course. The black ring."

"I spent most of last night reading in depth about being a Demi," John explained. "It's apparently part of the Asexual community. They have a black ring on the right middle finger as a symbol of their Ace Pride."

"You thought instead of a wedding ring, you'd get a black one?"

"Well—well I uh … yeah." John again looked down at the floor where Gladstone sat. His cheeks were a bright red. He felt hands lift his face up & a quick gentle kiss on his lips. He entwined his fingers together behind Sherlock's neck. "I'd have settled for hematite but Mycroft showed up & demonstrated how useless they are."

"They're the worst," Sherlock agreed. "I actually had one once a long time ago. Even before we first met. It lasted three days so I never bothered again. Hematite seems to be the chosen stone."

"Well it seems now that more Aces are using other rings," John pulled Sherlock a little closer. He was just glad he was forgiven. It wasn't over yet as they still had to wait for word from Mycroft but Sheba at least was coming home soon. "So long as it's black mostly."

After a moment, Sherlock asked, "Well? May I see it?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah," John pushed Sherlock aside & picked up his coat. He opened the box & passed it to Sherlock.

Sherlock pulled the ring out & held it up, spinning it back & forth between his fingers as he inspected it. John smirked to himself. Sherlock had to analyse everything or he wasn't happy. The ring was an onyx band about half an inch wide. On either side was a paper-thin line of white gold. Over the top was a central line of six very small diamonds. He finally slipped the thing onto his right middle finger, held it out for one last look & then raised his hand, turning the diamonded top of ring outward for John to see it in place.

"Three thousand forty pounds, about?" After John's eye-roll & nod, Sherlock went on. "Not to mention perhaps every single Holmes life." He let the hand drop to his side. "as well as your own."

So much for being forgiven. "I know, I KNOW!" John threw his hands up. "I didn't know she was that good. I didn't even remember that problem she has to begin with."

"Don't ever bring her shopping again, John."

"I won't," John agreed. "Believe me, I won't." Sherlock seemed to accept the promise as he gave him a single nod while sinking into John's chair. After a moment, John asked, "So, uh, do you like it?"

Sherlock looked up at him, hands steepled with fingertips lighting touching each other. "I wouldn't be wearing it if I didn't. Honestly John!"

"Right," John nodded.

"Let's just hope it's worth it."

"Ok," John moved to stand behind Sherlock. He'll get his revenge! He put his hands on Sherlock's shoulders & leaned forward to whisper slyly. "You know, I was hoping to …make love with you…tonight but…well, there's a problem."

"I'm mad at you or you are mad at me?"

"Neither I hope," John laughed softly before going on. "You see, I don't have my medicine. For my erectile dysfunction right? I forgot because I'm way too old." At that, he started walking away, slowly on purpose to await Sherlock's reply.

"You are the last person on the planet to have erectile dysfunction!" Sherlock glared. "Believe me. I know!"

"Yeah but," John turned back to face him, looking faint. "That was before I got old. OH! Oh my head!" He put a hand to his forehead. "My head. My HEART! I fear I shall have a stroke. Ooohhh!"

"Watson!"

"I'm dying Sherlock," John glared back. "Don't yell at me now. OH!" He grabbed his heart. "I'm not long for this world."

Sherlock sighed heavily. "For Sheba! Watson. Too old for Sheba! Not me."

"Ah but you didn't actually say it like that did you?" John returned. "I got confused … since I'm too old to know better." He collapsed onto the couch with a pained moan. He suddenly felt hands fiddling with his belt buckle. "What are you doing?"

"You want me to thank you for the ring with a physical act," Sherlock explained. "So I will give you that blow job you asked for earlier."

John settled back for a moment. "Hang on. I never even asked for that."

"Yes you did."

"No I didn't."

Confused, Sherlock gave up with John's belt & sat down, pushing John's legs behind him to make room. "Do you want me to give you thanks for this ring or not?"

"Well, yes."

"Then why are you protesting?"

"I'm not."

"On the blog, you put that I'm 'going down baby down' did you not?"

"Well, I did b—" John stopped. Mycroft had warned him about the blogs going crazy. "Oh no. Move."

"Why?"

_"Bouge BOUGE!" ("Move, MOVE!")_ John slithered off the couch to the floor not waiting for Sherlock. He got up & settled into his armchair, laptop in hand.

_Not right now John. I don't have time to go down for you right now. You can have a blow job later._

_-signed out: Sherlock Holmes._

_So NOT what he meant!_

_-signed out: Mycroft Holmes._

_… … … …WTF IS WRONG WITH YOU?!_

-signed out: (Anon)

_That language is unbecoming of a lady, (Anon)!_

_-singed out: Sherlock Holmes._

_Am I seriously related to you?_

-signed out: TheElder

_Distantly. Elder. Distantly. Sherlock? You know how bad a bitch I can be._

_-signed out: (Anon)_

_Worse than Adrian! "evil grin icon"_

_-signed out: TheElder_

_Hmm, good point._

_-singed out: Sherlock Holmes_

_Perhaps we should send Adrian a Confessional for Christmas._

_-signed out: TheElder_

_Ok I gotta ask, what's up with you boys & Confessional stands lately?_

_-signed out: (Anon)_

(Anon) sign in & private message me. I will let you know.

_-signed out: Sherlock Holmes_

_"Captain Picard captioned picture: double face-palm…for when one face-palm just wasn't enough"_

-signed out: Mycroft Holmes

John snarled so much it scared Gladstone. "Why I oughtta…"

_That's it! I'm switching websites!_

-signed out: (deactivated)

John nearly slammed the laptop closed. "You're an idiot! Don't look at me like that. You are." Silence hung between them. "So, 'Anon' is Irene commenting without signing in then?"

"Yes that's her with Shane."

"'The Elder'," John said.

"Now you're mad at me," Sherlock surmised.

"Yep! I am." John got up & headed for the bedroom. "Gladstone, come on." He closed the door once the dog was in.

Sherlock was left on the couch. After several minutes, he got up & opened the door to the bedroom. John was already in bed, propped up on a pillow reading. Gladstone lifted his head to glare from his position on the second pillow. "Thank you for the ring."

"You're welcome," John scowled.

"Good night."

"Uh huh, night," John hummed, preferring to read.

Rather meekly, Sherlock went back to the couch. He pulled his violin from the table beside him & plucked at a few chords. He reached for his bow & got up to play. Slowly but surely, he made his way to the bedroom door, playing a tune.

John rolled his eyes. Not listening! He went on reading. The violin continued on & John caught himself humming along under breath. Recognising the melody, he suddenly put the book aside. "The Rose." John sat back listening. It was one of the most favoured love songs, along with Titanic's melodies. He pinched his nose, trying not to laugh. "Dammit!" He got up & opened the door. "I can't stay mad at you."

Sherlock lowered the bow & violin. "That's good." When John merely stared at him, Sherlock shifted weight from one side to the other. "Do you want me to come in? Or should I try another one?" He actually did the opening chords of Titanic.

"So cliché!" John pursed his lips & looked Sherlock over. "Oh alright." He finally let Sherlock enter.

Gladstone was put onto the foot of the bed. John lay in a fitful sleep in Sherlock's arms. Without Sheba around, the flat actually no longer felt right. At least Molly had her.


	32. Chapter 32

**(32) Secrets Of Pain**

_(Before anyone wonders WTF here, I listened to the entire soundtrack of...wait for it...seriously...Titanic a few times over WHILE writing this. It just came out. I'm sorry. Carry on ...I suggest a similar situation & perhaps a few tissues for the latter half...don't say I didn't warn you.)_

Black hands with long elegant fingers stroked the white back. They slipped down to the chocolate brown strap & played with the buckles for a moment. They returned to the backbone, rubbing down the shoulders where the withers are. It wasn't quite time to pull the girth belt in another hole yet. Soon though. Soon that girth would be pulled tightly to its top hole on either side so it wouldn't slip off.

The man checked the hobbles around each ankle to make sure they were secure. He was a very dark contrast to the white creature next to him. He rubbed the shoulders once more, earning a sigh. He got ready to mount.

The two corner lights cast a dim glow into the room. Mycroft lay prone on his bed, hands clasped above his head against the headboard. In fact, he was handcuffed to it. Actually, handcuffs & a few other shackles were the only things he was wearing at the time. He felt those black hands rub his shoulders again. Mycroft wondered how he could be in so much pain yet so relaxed at the same time.

His partner's hands stroked down over his hips once more. The man leaned over him & whispered in his ear, "I think it's time to slide that strap up another hole, one each side." He moved his hands down to the girth. "Wouldn't you agree, Adrian?" He felt Mycroft's whole body shudder in anticipation but no 'safe word' uttered. He continued, working one side at a time. The strap was tied down to either side of the bed. It was about two inches wide & ran over the bed under Mycroft, coiled around his cock once. That noose was pulled tighter every time, twisting & pinching into his flesh. Mycroft suddenly tossed his head back, arching his back as his partner tightened the girth. He drew in a few agonised gasps, trying to get his breathing under control. His partner lay back, enjoying the sight. Mycroft always twitched at a new hole. He leaned over again. "Settled now?"

Mycroft's answer was a soft groan. He managed a short whisper, "Think you'll ever get it all the way to that last hole?"

"You know our safe word," his partner replied. "In all these years you have yet to use it."

"Never!" Mycroft defied through gritted teeth. He felt a soft touch on his back once more, a gentle contrast to the pain coming from under him. "…Asa…" Mycroft slowly relaxed once more under Asa's massage. He was right to. Asa pushed him to the limit each time, which got farther & farther...each time. With a long low groan, Mycroft slowly released a breath that was more painful to hold in than not.

The first time he had met Asa, he was only fourteen. Asa however was twenty three, nearly twenty four. Their first time together, Mycroft had been lying in the barn hayloft. Sherlock was off with the nanny of the time, a black woman named Shanoah. She had been his favorite nanny. (For starters she was the only one who seemed to handle Sherlock's already far developed deducing skills. Besides that, she was the kindest one they ever had.) Asa was her son. He had been sent to locate Mycroft & ended up in the hayloft with him. It was late afternoon & a heavy rain drummed on the roof of the barn, sounding a bit loud in the hayloft.

"What are you doing up here?"

"Just thinking," Mycroft chewed on a long sprig of hay.

"Of what?"

For some reason, Mycroft had trusted Asa in a moment, unlike anyone else. "About how I can never have one real love."

"You're only fourteen, it'll happen," Asa shrugged. "Now let's go. Mum's waiting."

"No it won't happen."

Asa rolled his eyes & jumped off the top of the ladder into the hay. "Why not?"

"Because it isn't safe," Mycroft said. "I have to keep moving around a lot. I'm hardly ever here at home."

"Well alright then," Asa sighed. Kids. "When you settle down, then you can find one."

"I can't ever," Mycroft said.

"Every kid thinks that w—"

"I'm not a kid!" Mycroft snapped, but for once instantly regretting it. How could Asa possibly know the truth anyway?

"Sorry!" Asa held up his hands. "Look you'll find a girl someday."

"Actually, I'm bisexual."

Asa cross-rolled his eyes shut. "You'll find someone someday."

"I've seen a few girls, but no guys yet," Mycroft replied. "I'm more picky when it comes to them. Do you like guys?" Asa scowled. "I saw you kissing some guy yesterday."

"Just goofing off," Asa tried to mentally kick himself. "I'm almost twenty four you know."

Mycroft stared at him. He was a whole lot older, despite being on Earth only fourteen years. "You're training to become a bodyguard right?"

"Yeah, just like my Dad," Asa said. "I'm just about done. Couple more weeks."

"Can you kiss me?"

"What? Oh no! You're not legal to me!"

"Who would tell?"

"Adrian!"

"It's a simple question," Mycroft leaned in close. "I have a secret & so do you. My secret involves my family needing some guards. I know someone who could hire you for me." He sighed a moment, thinking of Shane, before going on. "You have a little secret of your own & I know what it is."

"Ok," Asa nodded. "What's my secret?"

"I saw you do a bit more than just kiss that guy."

Asa's face went completely blank. "Look ki—Adri, some people prefer a kind of, ah well, a certain form of se—"

"I know what BDSM is, I'm not a child," Mycroft interrupted. He lay on his back again, staring at the roof. A sleepy owl glared at them before turning around & side-walking away. "I've never been so hard in all my life, watching you two."

"Adrian!" Asa was horrified. "First of all, that kind of thing requires a bit of training—"

"So train me."

"—Secondly, you're illegal to me."

"I'm much older than you think," Mycroft tapped his chest. "In here." Asa looked at him. He could see it in Mycroft's eyes that he was speaking the truth. What had this chi—young man been through? He didn't know then that Mycroft had already killed someone two years ago. Not a murder but in defence of his little brother Sherlock, who narrowly missed being shot that day. Sherlock never knew; he was only five then.

"If your parents ever find out about you ask—"

"They're both dead. Car accident. So I tell William anyway."

"I'm sorry," Asa looked away. "Why do you tell your little brother that?"

"It's better than the truth."

"Which is?"

"You're not my bodyguard," Mycroft hesitated before adding. "Yet."

"We should get back," Asa tried to leave.

Mycroft grabbed Asa's hand. Their fingers interlocked. "Just try it once. That's all I ask. I'll never make a move on you again."

"Adrian!"

Mycroft pulled on his grip, forcing Asa to lean over towards him. He whispered slyly. Seductively. "Passion is a fire which nearly all burn with."

"…Adri..." Asa gasped.

"Not even the owl will know," Mycroft indicated the rafters. "It's gone. Just once."

"I'll hurt you."

"As your future employer, I expect to get what I want."

Asa looked Mycroft over. He was a handsome one to look upon. Lying in the hay, shirtless with their hands locked. They had gotten along well enough in the past. But fourteen? If this got out! He glanced up into Mycroft's face, earning a subtle smile. "Adrian." That name! Asa found he loved it.

"What do you want me to do?"

Asa sighed. "If we get caught..."

"We won't."

Asa lay down beside him. "Then stand up. Get undressed." Mycroft did as he was told. Asa did the same. "This is really wrong. Illegally wrong."

"Is it just the age thing, Asa?"

"Yes," Asa admitted.

"Then we just have to keep quiet until I am of age." Mycroft stepped up to his side. "Now what?"

"You have had sex before right?" Asa put a hand between Mycroft's thighs & began teasing the tender flesh.

"Oh!" Mycroft gasped as Asa's fingers traced patterns, sounding a bit like Rose when she re-entered the water with the axe for the simple reason that his voice was at that breakable stage. Mycroft flushed but recovered quickly. "A few girls so far."

Asa sighed heavily. "Before anything else happens, we need a safe word. That's when partners sta—"

"I know what that is," Mycroft grumbled. "Secrets. Our word is 'Secrets' Oh! Mm!" He tried to stay standing until Asa commanded him otherwise.

"Use it the moment you want out," Asa really tried to find a way out of this. He didn't mind Mycroft at all & admitted to himself that if he had been older he would be a good partner. But he never expected to be seduced by the little brat! Mycroft had his talons in him.

"I will never use it."

"Believe me, you will," Asa continued tickling Mycroft's inner thighs. He took hold of Mycroft's hand & held it down to his own thighs, indicating Mycroft should do the same.

"Ooh a challenge! Good I like that." Mycroft's touch was a bit more experienced than Asa had anticipated. A few girls indeed.

Wait, that sounded like this kid was planning to do this more often. "Adrian you said you would—Mmm!—never make a move on me after this."

"I haven't forgotten," Mycroft said, being bold & actually stroking a finger along Asa's black cock. "You'll come to me."

"Ahh. Ah! Adri—!" So damned confident! What the hell happened to the Holmes family? Asa gave up. "This will get rough." He grabbed Mycroft & lowered him into the hay. He lay over him for a moment just so they could thrust together. Asa then held himself up & let Mycroft turn over. Mycroft felt every prick of the hay in his flesh as Asa bore down into him suddenly without warning. It had been painful as Asa promised. At the same time, Asa seemed to know exactly where the g-spot was & didn't leave it alone. He drove home in hard strokes.

That first encounter had been rough, in more ways than one, but quick. If Mycroft hadn't been so damned willing, it would have looked like a rape. Most likely felt like one. Both came at the same time, letting out a gasping cry that made the horses below shriek & stamp their hooves in their stalls before settling down. Mycroft had scratches from the hay all over his front, from chest downward but didn't complain. It seemed like he didn't even notice.

Over thirty years later, Asa was the most trusted guard on the Holmes property & the only one who knew exactly what was going on. True to his word, Mycroft had never asked again or ever used the safe word. True to his curse as if the Master was part Siren, Asa had gone to Mycroft of his own accord. They hardly ever saw each other but occasionally, to this day, Mycroft would enter his bedroom to find Asa lying on his bed, waiting for him. Without question, he would submit to Asa each time. Asa was the closest thing Mycroft had to an actual true love in his life. To present day, no one knew that Asa & Mycroft were partners in things other than the Service. Their sessions had lengthened from those few short first minutes to by now, nearly two hours. Asa certainly had trained him. Trained them both.

"Oh Gods!" Mycroft arched his back again. Asa had just yanked the strap tight, pulling him out of his recollections.

Asa replied as soon as Mycroft had settled again. "Top hole."

"Seriously?" Mycroft gasped. "You never got me that tight before."

"I'll never have you so loose again." Asa reached down under Mycroft's hips & began his attack. Mycroft knew he wouldn't relax until he came now, assuming he could. Asa touched the bulging bits of flesh trapped in the coil of the strap. He felt something sticky & knew that he had drawn blood. He pressed his fingers in farther to play with the tip of Mycroft's cock, now hard & hot yet painfully tender from being squeezed so tightly. Asa ignored Mycroft's involuntary attempts to buck away. He couldn't go anywhere, being strapped down by hands, cock & spread out ankles anyway. All he could do was contort himself as much as his binds would allow (which wasn't much) & cry out at his touch. Asa teased the inner thighs, earning several sobbing moans. "You know the word. Just let it go."

"I'll never let go Asa! I'll never let go," Mycroft gasped before letting out a yelp as Asa gripped his already over-swollen plums. Asa ignored it, continuing to agonize & squeeze the area in his hand. He knew he'd put Mycroft in tears now but no safe word, no mercy. Mycroft had his head back almost enough to look at the ceiling. His breath came out in short choking gasps that made his whole body jump with every one under Asa's touch. His hips continued to struggle uncontrolled with each jolt of pleasured pain, which only caused another shock to run through his body & then another again. Glad that he had his own room soundproofed a long time ago, Mycroft gasped & cried out with every tremor.

After a few minutes of torturing Mycroft like that, Asa took advantage of that position. He moved to the top of the bed, standing over Mycroft's hands. He lowered himself down to let Mycroft take his full length into his mouth for a moment. He went in straight to the hilt. Asa could feel the vibes of Mycroft's now-muted voice & it was all he could do to keep from coming right there. He soon manoeuvred himself back beside Mycroft. He teased Mycroft's inner thighs again. After letting a few minutes go by while Mycroft shook & whimpered at his touch, he said. "Last chance, Adrian."

"Mm mm." Mycroft quickly shook his head. This was the only way to not give in to Asa. He had never dominated Asa or played the top to Asa's bottom. He had only made that one verbal move on him & that was it.

"Suit yourself," Asa stopped teasing the thighs & lay over his partner. He clapped one hand over Mycroft's mouth, the other reaching underneath to grab none-to-gently around the coil-strained cock & then bore down in one long hard thrust. Mycroft writhed beneath him but there was no escape until Asa at least had his satisfaction.

Asa pressed into him, hitting that g-spot more than once. Mycroft would have screamed but for the tight clasp over his mouth. At the moment, he couldn't scream to save his life but oh! How he wanted to. All he could do was blink back tears of painful ecstasy. The pair came at the same time. Mycroft was amazed he did considering that part of him was being pulled in two opposing ways at once, bound tightly in a leather girth. Asa lay still over him, still inside. The pain quickly returned. Mycroft ignored it as best possible. It made him jerk & shudder with gasping grunts but he tried to keep still. So long as Asa was still on him, it wasn't over. After a while, both were slowly but surely becoming hard again. Asa gripped Mycroft again, same way as before. He had never changed position, only released his hold. Now with a strong grip once more, both worked for a second round. A second go was always more pain than pleasure for Mycroft. At least in one way. Physically spent but for pain only, somehow his heart willed to go on. Mycroft's pleasure in a second round was by the sheer strength of love for this man. He knew Asa did it on purpose but he arched back into him anyway, giving over his complete trust. He had nothing to fear. No one else in his life, not even his brothers or sister, could ever have that.

After a moment's rest from that, Asa finally moved off, having taken care of Mycroft's physical & emotional need. He released the handcuffs & hobbles but watched slightly amused, as Mycroft had no choice but to remove the last entrapment, issuing more than a few choice words in the process of his full relief.

"You enjoy that last moment as much as I do," Asa lay down, pulling Mycroft to his chest. Mycroft murmured an agreement, rather exhausted after their session. "So what did you call me for? Your message said you needed the girl here?"

"I had ex—expected a text—asking about instructions," Mycroft managed to say. He was trembling violently from the after effect. "Not you sh—showing up here."

Asa ran his fingers through Mycroft's hair & pulled his head back a bit. "I've missed you." He gave Mycroft a long lingering kiss.

"Whatever happened to too young eh?" Mycroft set his teeth against the shaking. It would stop in a few minutes.

"I was so wrong back then," Asa sighed. "You were too old for me. I was the young one."

"Told you we'd never get caught."

"I don't know," Asa glared. "I think those horses hated us ever since."

Mycroft buried his face in Asa smooth black chest, wet from his previous excursion, hiding his laugh. "We startled them." He sighed, kissing the center of Asa's breastbone before going on. "I was going to send you to bring Molly & Sheba here. I need this mess John made sorted out so Sherlock will be allowed with Sheba again."

"Ah I get it," Asa said. "You want to fix things so you'll get into Sherlock's good graces again."

"He hates me about as much as I love you. If not more."

"I've been with you from the beginning almost," Asa put a hand on Mycroft's face, hushing him. "I know why, but do you think kidnapping the kid will make things right?"

"Not kidnap," Mycroft grumbled. "Molly comes too, for a visit. I've promised Sheba she would start riding Saffie. So that could be her time to start."

"What about your Service career?"

"Shane helped fix that."

"Good," Asa paused a moment. He knew all about Shane but the eldest Holmes boy didn't know a thing about him except, oh yeah, some bodyguard he hired a few decades ago. Asa shook his head a little for himself. He was in so deep yet no one knew. It was a dangerous spot to be in. He pulled Mycroft up from his chest, holding him tight. Asa ran his tongue over Mycroft's lips before demanding entry. He prolonged the kiss, stroking Mycroft's side with one hand. He finally broke the kiss off & laid his head against Mycroft's neck. "I'm sorry about your sister, my love."

"Mm God!" Mycroft cried out. He reduced himself to crying against Asa's shoulder. "Nothing you ever do to me could hurt like Shane's call that day. Not even close."

"Shh. I know."

"My God. My God! I wanted to kill him then!" Mycroft sobbed. "He failed her! In front of William too. Oh God how could he let her die in front of Will? Of all things!"

"That man, Moriarty, was the worst case," Asa caressed Mycroft's hair, still damp from before. "If you ever get someone like that again, send them directly to me."

"That Service is the death of all my family," Mycroft gasped between tears. "I'm not working for it anymore. I'm only there so I can kill that man. My boss. He started it all. Then I'm out!"

"And risk death to everyone? Adri, you are in too deep. You can never leave," Asa pressed a short kiss to Mycroft's lips, shushing him before he could say anything. "You can't just kill. You must take over."

"Asa, I can't do this anymore," Mycroft said the moment he had a chance. "Will doesn't care. Doesn't understand. He can never get how much he hurt me when he said he didn't care. Asa, he slaughtered me! All he wants is to be a Consulting Detective & fuck all else. Insulting Detecti—OW! What was that for?"

Asa had just punched him. "The almighty Sherlock Holmes does care, Adrian & you are stupid not to notice that fact. He's merely lashing out due to mistrust & fear."

"Really. Sherlock. Fear…have you met him?" Mycroft stared incredulously. "Asa, he jumped from a building to save John & a few others."

"Mostly just John," Asa said. "He's loved him long enough. You think he wasn't afraid of the risk? What about his rape?" Asa pressed onward, ignoring Mycroft's sob. "How do you think he felt then? Or when Bach foundered on that cliff? He knows fear, he just has the superb ability to control himself. It annoys others because they can't do that. Most people have to be trained to control such emotions. Like John. The soldier. Sherlock merely has a natural gift for grace under fire. Why else would you be trying to make up with him?"

"I don't know," Mycroft had truly given up. "I like Sheba. Maybe whatever screw ups I did with William, I won't for her. She's my second chance, yet Will thinks I would kill her."

"No, he's just saying that to piss you off," Asa replied. "The mere fact that he didn't tell you about the gang rape should tell you enough," Asa went on. "Shame. Fear. Hurt. He feels just fine, Adri. In fact, he feels too much." He pressed their lips together for a brief moment. "Just like you."

"If not for you Asa," Mycroft whispered hoarsely, "I think I would have killed myself long ago. I think about suicide. Often."

"I know," Asa stroked Mycroft's cheek with one finger. "I can tell you every moment in time when you were a lot closer to death than any assassin could ever wish for."

"Really? How so?"

"This is one of those times," Asa leaned over to whisper. "I'm here yet again, aren't I? You have a little gun with one bullet in the top drawer behind a secret panel. I know exactly what it's for but I won't let you use it."

Mycroft pulled his head away & just stared into Asa's eyes. Every piece fell into place. Every time he was with Asa was whenever he had come up to his bedroom. Now, looking back, Mycroft realised it wasn't always at night. It was any time, yet the same sort of time as well. Any moment Mycroft was overwhelmed, he'd call Asa & explain some problem to him. But no matter how business-like he kept his voice, Asa had always shown up on his bed, distracting Mycroft from that drawer with his own lithe black beauty of a body lying naked ready for him. A blockade against death's escape lying in wait in his drawer. "...Asa..."

"I am hired to be your personal bodyguard, am I not?" They both smirked at the word 'personal' as Asa got out of bed.

"Where are y—"

"Just wait a minute," Asa headed for the side door leading into Mycroft's private washroom. It was large & had a bath that could fit three people in it. Asa filled it, calling Mycroft over. "Now you know why you allow me to hurt you as much as I do when I'm over." He took Mycroft's hands into his own & pulled him into the tub. "Punishment."

Mycroft glared. Asa had him all figured out. If it was anyone else, they'd probably be dead by now. But this is what Asa was hired for right? "There are moments I despise you, Asa."

"Only because you know I'm right," Asa pushed Mycroft down & lay beside him. He stroked Mycroft's chest, touching each nipple before lying a hand in the center between the pecks. Asa slowly petted downward.

Mycroft gasped when Asa's touched that patch of fur between his legs. Asa reached lower, his grip firm but gentle (for once), being mindful of the two or three open abrasions he had caused earlier. Mycroft sighed, opening his thighs a little to allow Asa full access. "I think, besides Shane, you're the only one who truly gets it."

"Hush Adri," Asa leaned over to kiss him. "Just rest." Mycroft smiled softly against Asa's lips & closed his eyes. Asa continued working his hand underwater, running his fingers over Mycroft's tip, earning a shuddering gasp. He leaned over farther, replacing his hand with his own hardness instead. The hot water swished back & forth, like a sea waving to the hymn of their movements.

Mycroft was sobbing again, quietly. It wasn't due to any pain Asa caused him. There was none. Not this time. Asa had never made love to him before like this. No shackle or strap. No intent for pain. Mycroft was hurting enough. He felt his very soul rip in two as Asa went underwater & took in his length for as long as he could hold breath. Mycroft's hips lurched part way out of the water at Asa's kiss, thrusting hard into his mouth. Asa wasn't hurting this time.

He had come to heal.

Mycroft gasped. He had been almost at the edge but Asa came up for air. "This day was a long time coming. There were times I wondered if you'd ever understand. Why I come to you as I do. Why you let me hurt you so much. Did you honestly think it was just a game? You never noticed how you'd swap out suicide for a round of agony instead because you thought you deserved one of the two?" He caught Mycroft's lips with his own, not waiting for a response. "I don't think even Shane understands this much." He moved in for another kiss, not allowing Mycroft to speak.

After several minutes of moving together in the water, Asa released the plug & stood up. Mycroft went to his knees to deep-throat Asa as Asa pulled down the showerhead. "Ad—Adri! Stand up."

Mycroft let his teeth drag along Asa's flesh as he pulled away to stand. Asa yelped & nearly slipped. Mycroft held him up. Asa turned Mycroft away from him, put the showerhead to its hardest setting & pushed it down, starting at Mycroft's throat.

A moment later, Mycroft nearly doubled over. "Ohhh! I thought! Girls! Mmm hmm!"

"Apparently not," Asa held Mycroft up again, holding the showerhead in place. "We have our spots as well."

"Mm hmm," Mycroft murmured, feeling like he was in constant orgasm. It made his whole body vibrate in Asa's arms.

Asa kicked the tap off & let the showerhead drop. Mycroft growled in protest but was already being herded out the tub. They never made it to the bed. Instead, Mycroft lay back on the floor, pulling Asa onto him. Asa put one hand between them to massage Mycroft's cock. They rolled over each other in a tight 'mating ball' as they become more frantic, with Mycroft still ending up underneath. On edge, Mycroft sat up with head back, as Asa buried his face between Mycroft's pecks. Grunting with effort of each thrust together, they rocked back & forth on Mycroft's hips a few times before lying down again. After another desperate attempt to get off, a second wave of pleasure teetering on edge made them rise up again. Mycroft focused on the ceiling as each gasp threatened to push both of them over but never quite did. He bit into that black shoulder as they lay down again & held on as they both went over at last. Asa pressed down on Mycroft's shoulders as Mycroft arched his back off the floor so much, his spine took on the shape of a deadly bow. They finally collapsed in a pile.

They fell asleep almost in the same position on the floor, slowly manoeuvring to lie side by side. Mycroft woke up late the next morning, finding himself alone on the floor covered with a blanket. He took his time to make up the bed & get dressed. Then he sat in his armchair near the desk by the window, hands steepled similar to Sherlock at the MindPalace's door, waiting.

Mycroft would go downstairs when Sheba was brought in.

_(Ok I used the term withers & girth in the first paragraphs for a reason. I had to make it look like it was a horse thing first of all since FFnet is getting cranky & this seems to be my most exotic thing I ever wrote. So...sorry for that first awkward moment but it's needed. At first glance, it's just a cowboy with a stubborn white horse & since I already had a few actual horse things previously...hopefully it'll work anyway._

_Man, I really felt like horsing around here! Oh & I'm NEVER writing while playing the soundtrack to Titanic again! _

_I really stripped Mycroft naked here & I'm actually not even talking about sex. I mean to the soul here. I honestly have no idea where I'm going with him._

_Anyway, I hope no one hates Sherlock as much as I do right now. This was a VERY unexpected chapter. Don't worry I will get Sherlock back into all our grace soon…I hope._

_Like I said, blame Titanic...which...I will never watch or listen to in the same way again. lol)_


	33. Chapter 33

**(33) The Calm ... ...**

A hard rain hit the window. It had been nearly two hours since Mycroft had found himself alone. He still sat in his chair during a rare moment inside his own MindPalace. His mobile lay on his desk in front of him. It finally buzzed, nearly falling off the table with its vibrations. Mycroft caught it. "Hello? Good. I'll be right down." He pocketed the thing, went to the nightstand beside the bed & opened the top drawer. After pulling something out, he paused a moment to glance at the bed. He smiled to himself, lost in daydreams of the wild night with Asa, before heading down stairs.

"Master, they are in the common room down the left wing."

"Thank you Carlotta," Mycroft nodded, striding by. She followed. "See that Lady Saffie is saddled please?" He put his hands behind his back, hiding the object from the drawer & entered the room. Sheba was sitting on the floor playing with the tassels on the edge of the rug. Molly sat on the armchair in front of her while Asa stood at attention nearby. "Mr. Jordine," Mycroft nodded, formal in public. Anthea went on ahead & outside.

"Uncle Adri!" Sheba got up & ran to him.

Mycroft picked her up by one arm. "I heard you caused a spot of trouble, young lady. Taking some necklace that isn't yours?"

"It was pretty!"

"I don't care!" Mycroft shot back, erasing her smile. "You are never to do that again. Things could be worse next time. Understand? Well do you?" Sheba looked to the floor, pouting. "Just wait until your father gets his hands on you again."

"I hate him."

"Again. I don't care!" Mycroft gave her a little shake. "Don't ever let me hear of you taking such things again. Understand? You shame me!" Sheba started crying. "Good. That ought to make you think twice before stealing again." Mycroft wondered for a moment if he was being too hard on the girl, but pushed the thought aside. She had after all, nearly caused every single Holmes & John their lives. "Alright you can stop crying now. Oh! What's that over there?" Mycroft looked out towards the double glass doors opening up to a covered balcony. Sheba sniffled & looked the same way, not meeting his eyes. Mycroft finally held up his other hand with the object he had been carrying. He cleared his throat to get Sheba's attention.

Sheba glared at him for a split second, then caught sight of the thing in his hand. "HONKY TONKS!"

Mycroft put her down & gave her the goose. "It's the same one to. See? Missing one talon on the left foot."

"Daddy threw him away."

"Daddy was very upset with you. We all still are," Mycroft glared. "But it landed on top & didn't fall in. I swiped it when no one was looking."

Molly stood up & came over. "I'm not sure if we're supposed to be here or not?"

"Service trumps cops any day," Mycroft shrugged.

"I suppose so," Molly glanced at her hands a moment. "Is Sherlock here?"

"He will be in a moment," Mycroft replied. "You can stay with Sheba in the meantime."

Molly smiled. "I'm glad you got that goose back. She's been crying the whole time for it."

"Hmm," Mycroft grumbled, glaring at Sheba. "It's a one-time thing. You do something like this again child, & I'll be the one destroying that goose!" He pointed an accusing finger at the thing. Sheba cuddled it tighter & turned sideways. "Got that? No more stealing or kiss Honkies good-bye!"

"Master Holmes?" Anthea had fortunately returned at that moment. "Lady Saffie is ready & waiting in the indoor corral."

"Excellent," Mycroft pushed Sheba & Molly ahead of him. "Get her started on the horse. I'll be with you in a moment." Once they were gone, Mycroft turned to Asa. The two instantly relaxed the formalities.

Asa took Mycroft's hands & wrapped them around his own waist. He whispered in his ear, "Holding up still?"

Mycroft sighed tiredly. "The worst is yet to come."

"I'll be here."

"Do you have any idea how mad Sherlock will be when he finds out she's here?"

Asa put a hand around the back of Mycroft's neck & turned him a bit while kissing him. "He'll live."

Mycroft snickered. "There I times I say unfortunately to that." They held each other in a moment of silence. Mycroft relived parts of their night together. It had been their strongest & longest time together yet. He sighed & stood back out of Asa's grip. "Bring him to me."

"Yes Master," Asa nodded quickly & left. Mycroft raised one brow. Master indeed. That wasn't the way it was last night. He was used to the others calling him that but it was always so strange when he & Asa had to be formal with each other. For a quick moment, he entertained the idea of having Asa under him but that was so wrong to envision that he cast the idea aside. Asa was the Master & he the slave. Mycroft laughed softly to himself as he headed for the barn.

"This is awesome!"

"John! Corner! Too Fast!"

"No it isn't!" John swerved through the turn.

"Remember John," Sherlock gasped as he car headed straight again. "Just one time. We agreed."

"Whatever," John was smiling like an idiot. "Hey how do you get the flames to show? There's a car coming up behind us."

"Oh & you wish to incinerate them?" Sherlock muttered.

"You're not the only show-off you know," John countered. Sherlock sat back glaring.

They were in the new Lamborghini, which John had nicknamed Black Beauty much to Sherlock's annoyance, coasting along the road in a stretch of Scotland. The only reason that John was driving was that he knew the shortest best way to get there & since Sherlock had somehow lost his mobile & couldn't look anything up, John fought hard & won the keys. Sherlock's mobile mysteriously showed up not long after but...well good friggen luck prying John from the wheel after that.

"John, you do know this will require petrol shortly, right?"

John scowled. The moment they had to stop to fill up was the moment they would switch places. He planned to drive this thing dry before that happened. "Soon...soon."

John followed a road that went along the coast. It went up above the water at some points. They went through a small town & reluctantly, John finally pulled into a gas station. By the time they were ready to move on, Black Beauty had acquired quite the audience. Sherlock took little notice, taking over the driver's seat at last. As he drove the car to the road & paused waiting to turn onto it, he pressed the pedal, letting the Lambo scream & fire in place. He drove away as the crowd clapped & cheered. "Oh shut up." Sherlock tried but failed miserably to hide a smirk.

John laughed at him anyway before asking, "Do you think we could stop by for a bite to eat before going to this house?"

"Really?"

"I can get a take out."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "There is one spot by the ocean up ahead. Hurry up." He pulled the Lambo off the road into a lookout over a cliff plunging down into the sea. There was no wall. On the side were steps leading down to a restaurant floating on the wharf. Sherlock led John down by both hands since John's dislike for heights had increased drastically over the past two or three years. A single lone oak grew out in the center of the cliff, its large branches spread wide while several thick roots disappeared stubbornly into the clefts.

They ended up taking a table outside over the water. Sherlock had nothing but a drink while John got the lobster dish. While sitting down, John finally asked. "So what exactly are you doing here?"

"While waiting for Shane to finish things up with Sheba, I have found a second case to work on," Sherlock explained. "A brother & sister with their mother each blame the other for the murder of their father."

"Simple enough."

"Meanwhile their father is accusing them of murdering someone else."

"A note from beyond?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Sherlock scoffed. "He's obviously alive & well. We are going to meet him."

"I see," John tried to think things through. A loud crack interrupted his thoughts. Both he & Sherlock glanced around but saw nothing. "Do you think I can have another shot at Black Beauty?" John asked meekly after a moment of silence with nothing else happening.

"No," Sherlock muttered distractedly, still looking behind him. He finally turned back, giving up. "You had your fun."

"Fine," John smirked. He'll just have to trick him again. Easy peasy. There was another crack followed by groaning wood. "Is the wharf coming apart?" John asked in alarm, standing up.

Sherlock stood up as well. "I do not believe so." They heard several people calling out.

"Look there!"

"Oh my God! I hope no one's in that car!"

Several other screams went up. Sherlock & John shared a look & walked around the corner to see the cliff face.

Black Beauty was face-first in the oak tree. The tree was groaning & straining under the weight. It rolled downward a little as another root snapped off. It waved as if in the wind, first gracefully swinging upwards, clutching the car like a skeleton hand grabbing the grave's edge; then with a mighty roar, the whole thing finally snapped off & plunged into the sea. Black Beauty flipped forward onto the top, wheels spinning madly before sinking in a spray that turned the usual blue-grey ocean into a sick lime green color.

Both hands over mouth, John looked over at Sherlock who stood there gaping. John thought of an old Yul Brenner scene in the Ten Commandments when he, as Pharaoh, had lost all his horsemen to the sea & could only stare in horror before bowing down in a grievous defeat. Hardly had that scene flashed through his mind when Sherlock did a similar thing.

"Well," John finally managed to gasp. "Guess you're right. I won't be driving Black Beauty again." Sherlock remained in a huddled position, hands over head. "You know, had I been driving still," John went on. "I at least, would have remembered to put the parking brake on."

"SHUT UP!" Sherlock finally stood straight. "Just be quiet!" He rounded the corner & all but flung himself into the chair. John came to stand near him. "Oh!" Sherlock sighed. "Shane will kill me." He put both hands on his forehead.

John sat down in front of his lobster again. Half of him felt sorry for Sherlock but half of him wanted to burst out laughing at the miserable situation they were in now. No means of transportation at all & one of the world's best cars, still quite new, lay sinking to the ocean floor beside them. The sick green was still seething as leaves from the oak tree floated past. Not to mention the sight of Black Beauty's wheels flailing helplessly, black shot through with orange streaks, like a stuck tortoise (Help! HELP! Flip me over!) as the whole thing went under was—slightly—comical. Fortunately, Sherlock suddenly jumped up & headed back towards the cliff before John lost control of his straight face. Sherlock stood next to the restaurant staring upwards. Then he glanced at the swell of green that marked the place where his car currently was. He started dialling someone on his mobile.

About an hour later, the back end of Black Beauty could be seen emerging from the water, attached tightly to a thick cable coming from a crane perched at the top of the cliff. Sherlock & John stood near the crane, waiting.

Sherlock had his hands in his pockets. "Cheaper to haul it out & fix it than to buy yet another new one."

"Not much cheaper," John couldn't believe what Sherlock had done.

"But cheaper none-the-less."

It took another hour & a half to ease the Lambo upwards without causing more damage. There were enough scratches & dents on it from the oak tree. The front bumper was gone as well. Sherlock had it sent to the shop for repairs. The pair ending up using a cab instead.

"Ah Mister Holmes," A man greeted them at the door of an old cottage. "Please come in." He led them both into the living room.

"Mr. Campbell," Sherlock sat down with John next to him. "You seem to be very much alive."

"Yes well," Campbell shrugged. "I know one of them killed somebody, but it certainly isn't me." He handed over an envelope.

Sherlock looked inside. A picture of a woman with a younger man & woman, possibly in their late teens, was inside along with another picture of a field. "Is this the family?"

"Yes."

"What reason do they have to think you are dead?"

"I don't know," Campbell shook his head. "If I go to them, they might actually kill me to."

"You said one of them did kill someone?"

"Yes," Campbell nodded. "I happened to see someone digging in that field, which is out back behind the house. The real house we own; not this place. I rented it for now. Anyway, whoever it was tossed in a covered object big enough to be a body."

"Why do you think it's one of them?"

"Because of the mud tracks in the house later," Campbell said. "Whoever dug the hole didn't clean up to well & tracked the dirt inside. Thing is, those tracks came in through the side door for which there is only one key. It's usually Margaret, my wife, who has it."

"Did you not go digging around for yourself first?" John asked.

"Oh no! I don't want to be implicated!" Campbell put up his hands. "The address is on the back of that field picture. I hope you can find out what happened over there."

"I always do," Sherlock got up to leave. "I think it's time we paid a visit to the family. Show our respects."

"Do be careful," Campbell showed them out.

"My dear fellow," Sherlock paused to look back at him. "I am always careful." John set his teeth against any urge to scoff or retort. They headed for the cab parked at the end of the driveway.

"I'm afraid you're little case will have to wait, Mr. Holmes," the driver said.

"Mr. Jordine?" Sherlock stared at him a moment. "What are you doing here?"

"We have your daughter."

Sherlock sat back with a pout. John glanced between the two, wondering if that was a good thing or a bad thing. "Hmm," Sherlock sighed, taking in the scents. "You're using Cinnamon Rose-scented cologne."

"Don't start. So what?"

"Mycroft's favorite," Sherlock's mouth twitched. "You two had another round of slaking each others lusts haven't you?"

John rolled his eyes shut. He did not need that piece of information. Meanwhile Asa snapped, "What do you know of it?"

"Enough."

"It was a rhetorical question!" Right. Okay. So Sherlock & John knew about it, but hadn't a clue what was truly going on. That was fine. Asa drove them straight to a helicopter parked nearby, waiting.


End file.
